Hoshi no Hikari
by Jedi Goat
Summary: Harry Potter-Bleach crossover. Everyone knew Fred and George Weasley were identical down to the last freckle. What they didn't know was that Fred was different - frighteningly so. But finding out how and why just might endanger more than their lives...
1. Prologue

**Hoshi no Hikari**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter or a certain anime...

Special Thanks - to Dancing Roses and Sunny Rain, my awesome beta!

Author's Note - I'm baaack! The plot bunnies were stalking me, so I gave in and started on another Weasley twin epic. For those of you familiar with _In George's Eyes_, I cut George some slack and went after Fred this time. ;) This story, as stated above, is a crossover with a certain anime that I can't reveal at the moment, as it'll spoil the surprise. ;) But if you think you've caught the hints in this chapter, by all means, let me know your guesses! If you're not familiar with the anime, no worries, if anything it'll make the story more of a supernatural mystery... :D

Also, the above title means "Light of the Stars".

Enjoy!

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**Prologue**

A sudden ruby blast - as vibrant and swift as a firecracker - seared across the black sky. For a second the spell work hung menacingly, a garish wound in the darkness, before dissipating with a booming echo of its passing. Scattered screams split the air; but just as quickly they, too, were silenced, dragged back beneath the heavy shroud of ominous night.

Arthur Weasley pushed open the downstairs window to investigate the cacophony that had abruptly awakened him. Fumbling, he found his spectacles in the dark, and with them slightly askew on his nose, he peered out into the pitch-black night. Telltale flickers of light on the horizon warned him, with an all-too-familiar rigid tightening of his stomach, of the approaching wizards.

A shadow shifted behind him, and in an instant, his wife was beside him, her wand readied. Molly Weasley's typically warm and rounded face had creased with tension. "What is it, Arthur? Have - have they come back?"

"It can't be," he murmured, leaning out into the night. The slightest cool breeze weathered a face that had become far too thin and haggard recently. "It's been nearly two years now. Everyone that's left has been long locked up in Azkaban."

"That doesn't mean we're safe," she pressed on fiercely. "Who knows how many went into hiding when You-Know-Who fell? They have ways of knowing who worked against him." Arthur glanced at the sudden zealous light in her eyes, the tenseness of her jaw. Her fervor, he knew, was in the defense of their seven children - the youngest of whom, Ginny, was but a few weeks old. Recognizing her strength, he nodded, resigning himself to the emergency procedure they had laid in place during You-Know-Who's rise.

"I'll contact the Order - hopefully some of them know what the hell's going on. Gather the kids, but don't panic them. We can't move them out of here until we find out what's happening," he concluded. At her decisive nod, he retrieved his wand and hurriedly made for the fireplace. He reawakened the roaring flames with a quick flick of his wand, then tossing a handful of green powder into the blaze.

Praying that her husband could find the assistance they desperately needed, Molly scurried from the room. She took the stairs two at a time, forcing herself to restrain her pace as she neared the first of the upstairs chambers. She paused on the landing a moment, illuminated wand raised, to listen: only tense silence echoed back, the distant banging of the ghoul in the attic at the back of her mind. Taking a slow breath, she entered the first room.

Her wand's glow cast a gentle light over a worn crib, the mobile of mystical creatures overhead winking reflections back at her. Molly exhaled a long sigh of relief at the sight of her only daughter sleeping peacefully, a pink security blanket clamped in one tiny fist. Humming a lullaby to soothe the girl as she awakened, Molly gently hoisted Ginny and balanced her against her side, moving to the second crib. Two-year-old Ron rubbed his eye sleepily in the wand glow, holding tight to his tufty teddy bear.

"Come on, Ron," she whispered, taking him up in her other arm.

The two in tow, she now hurried upstairs, knocking on the next door. A moment's pause, and Percy, tousle-haired and pushing his glasses up on his nose, appeared in the doorway. "I heard a noise outside," he reported, correctly guessing the reason for her late-night interruption.

"It's all right," Molly reassured the precocious child. "Your father is looking into it now."

Percy glanced to Ron, who was already drifting off again, and Ginny, who chewed happily on the frills of her mother's nightgown. "Should I wake up my brothers?"

"Yes, of course. But do stay close to me." She didn't want to terrify him - it was enough trouble keeping her growing apprehension at bay - but they needed to move quickly. If there was truly a danger outside, Molly proclaimed fiercely, they would have to get through her before laying a hand on any one of her children.

Percy nodded obediently, leading the way up the stairs, though he was careful to remain within the dancing circle of light cast by his mother's wand. Pausing on the next landing, he pushed open the door and waited for Molly to proceed first. She entered, the warmth of her wand glancing off two beds on opposite walls, their messy-haired occupants tangled in blankets. At her silent signal, they were already fighting to get up, blinking sleepily.

"Mum, what's the big deal?" groaned the younger boy on the left, stifling a yawn.

"Yeah, it's way past midnight," put in his older brother, running a hand through his shoulder-length fiery hair.

"Bill, Charlie," she reprimanded them shortly; "let's go." Groaning, they complied and joined her in the doorway, eleven-year-old Bill stowing his wand in his back pocket. Molly handed off Ron to a yawning Charlie to free her wand hand; with a gesturing flick, she then led the subdued troop out onto the landing.

"Everyone, downstairs to the fireplace. You know what to do." She directed her commanding gaze at Bill, the oldest, who nodded in recognition of the responsibility she awarded him. Molly turned away - "I'll find the twins. Now, hurry, and quietly."

The boys started down the stairs, bare feet tromping on the creaky steps. Without a glance back, and another soft melody to pacify Ginny, who grew restless again, she hurried up the rickety stairwell. Molly had to keep a steady hand on the rail; the last additions to their tall house were the least stable, the steps groaning under her feet and the echoing noises of the ghoul's antics growing louder with each step she took. The atmosphere seemed almost colder as she rose higher; there were drafts in the walls, and she tugged her nightgown tighter around her and her daughter as she hustled onward.

Molly burst out on the top landing, panting slightly, and knocked loudly on the final door. She listened a moment, hearing nothing over the cackles and clatters overhead. With patience waning, she flung open the door and swept the room with the glow of her wand. The bed by the window - George's, on most nights - lay empty. Her heart pounding with foreboding, she turned toward the other corner of the room.

There were two lumps in Fred's bed. With the faintest sigh of relief, she marched over to the bed, shaking the shoulder of the nearest twin. They had both burrowed their heads beneath the pillow to block out the ghoul's racket; now one tousled red head emerged.

"Mum, the ghoul's too loud-"

"It's all right, Fred, we'll deal with him later. Everyone else is downstairs. Come now." She took the five-year-old's hand even as he mumbled, disgruntled, "I'm George, Mum."

Molly was distracted as Ginny let out a wail, adding to the incessant noise. "Shhh now, hush little Ginny don't you cry-"

"Mum, do we really hafta go to the old cat lady's house again? It smelled like cabbage," the twin complained, folding his arms.

"Now, nobody said anything about that. Just wake George and hurry downstairs," she informed him with difficulty over Ginny's growing screams. Struggling to hold the thrashing child, she backed out the door. "Hush, now," she continued to her daughter, adopting a more soothing tone. "It's just a ghoul. Nothing bad is going to happen, Mommy's here." Her heart pounding, she glanced over her shoulder; Molly prayed her words were true. She saw the twin bending over his brother's bed and turned away, humming as she brought Ginny down to the lower levels of the house.

When she met up with the others in the living room, she was quick to hand out reassurance where she could: ruffling Charlie's hair, who jolted to wakefulness with a start; smiling to Percy, who dutifully shadowed his older brothers; and kissing Ron's forehead as he slumbered on. Stepping back then, she looked to her husband as he finally stepped away from the fireplace. Green flames flickered and died away, to be replaced by the normal orange-red hearth.

His deathly pale face shattered her last, desperate hopes.

"What is it?" she barely dared whisper, for a moment forgetting the five younger ones looking on in confusion. Her wand shook in her clenched fist; Ginny was, for once, perfectly subdued.

Arthur's lips moved but no sound came out; finally, he shook his head and murmured, "It's Dementors, Molly."

"Dementors?" Charlie interrupted. "What's-?"

Bill intercepted his query with zeal. "They're creatures of the night. Dark, heartless. Wherever they go, they suck the whole life out of the place - leaving a chill worse than death. And then," he advanced on his brother, his voice lowering to a bare whisper, "they suck out your soul."

Percy let out a small squeak at this horrifying revelation; Charlie's eyes widened.

"They're the prison guards at Azkaban," Arthur concluded with a halfhearted warning glance at Bill; the eleven-year-old shrugged innocently. Troubled, he turned back to his wife: "They've revolted, Molly, no one's sure why... Wizards are already tracking them down as we speak, and the Order's mobilized to help."

"What of the Death Eaters they were guarding?" Molly breathed, clutching Ginny close to her breast.

"Contained and accounted for. For good, we hope. Molly, we've got to move... Reinforcements are coming, but I don't know how soon they'll arrive."

She nodded, recognizing the resolution in his tone. "Right, Bill, Charlie, you know what to do..."

"Where're Fred and George?" piped up Charlie, breaking away from the hand she placed on his shoulder.

Molly glanced around the shadowy room in sudden alarm, realizing two small figures were missing. "They must still be upstairs!" As she urgently made for the stairs, Arthur grabbed her arm.

"There isn't enough time-!"

A red blur flashed in the corner of his eye, and he turned to see Charlie sprinting up the stairwell.

"Charlie-!"

"He knows what he's doing," Bill said firmly, taking hold of Molly's other arm.

She shook her head, a violent fervor in her eyes. "My sons are upstairs!"

"Molly..."

A sudden hush fell over the room; an icy cold had seeped into the air, surrounding them. Arthur's chest tightened as he glanced around wildly; Ron and Ginny were in fits of tears, and Percy stood alone, frozen, his face a pale mask of terror. A thick layer of frost had built up on the windows, even as it was a previously warm summer evening. His heart pounding, Arthur whirled around.

"Molly! Get the kids to the safe house, now!" Even as he spoke, he pushed Bill toward the fireplace. The eldest threw a fistful of floo powder into the embers, repeated the memorized address, and held out his hand for Percy as his other clasped Ron tight to his chest. In mere moments the four children disappeared in a rush of green flames.

"I can't leave you here alone - or the boys -" Molly argued.

Arthur shook his head gently, his face eased in sudden tenderness as he bent to kiss her cheek. "You've done enough." Then, straightening, he resumed his mask: "I promise I'll protect them. Now go."

Molly bit her lip wordlessly, taking one long last look at him before she stepped into the flames. Ginny stretched out her arms to his retreating figure in confusion.

Abruptly the front door blew apart in wooden shards, a blistering wind howling through the exposed gap; Arthur whirled toward it, wand outstretched. "_Expecto Patronum_!"

Then, in a whirl of green flames, he disappeared from her view.

(-)

The door burst open beneath his burly shove, and Charlie wildly scanned the bedroom. "What are you idiots doing?" the ten-year-old gasped out upon sighting his younger brothers still huddled in bed; he nearly had to yell over the noise of the ghoul overhead.

George glanced up at him; he was perched beside his sleeping brother, and, Charlie noted in sudden puzzlement, his pale face was strangely blank.

"Hey...what's wrong?" Charlie approached the bed, tone easing to concern. Since Bill had left for Hogwarts a year ago, Charlie had grown closest to the twins out of his siblings. He knew their quirks better than perhaps their own parents did; and George's current expression, devoid of his usual energy and curiosity, twisted his stomach with strange terror.

"Fred won't wake up."

George's voice shook, and in it, Charlie recognized the bewilderment, a desperate plea for help. He sighed and bent beside his younger brother.

"It's a wonder he can sleep at all with all that racket." The ironic twist of his lips couldn't shake the growing dread knotting in his stomach. Charlie's hand brushed the younger boy's forehead and in an instant he withdrew, eyes widening.

Fred's skin was ice.

The knot in his stomach painfully twisting further, Charlie looked from the still figure of one twin to the equally pale one at his side. George was watching him. Charlie swallowed with difficulty; tendrils of cold had seeped into his skin, making it hard to move, to think.

"I-"

A blast of cold air hit his back; acting solely on instinct, Charlie unthinkingly dove across the bed, with one hand grasping George and pulling him tight to his chest. Shielding both the twins with his body, he glanced over and felt his body turn to ice.

Where their window used to be was nothing more than a gaping black hole, jaggedly lined with glass; shards spilled across half the chamber, littering the opposite bed. How easily that could have been them, pierced by those daggers that now tore apart blankets and ruptured a feathered pillow...

Charlie forced the thought aside. His eyes were locked on the beast in the window - if the fiend could even be called that.

A deep black hood shrouded its face; it cascaded downward in extensive folds to long sleeves, and near the floor, ending in a torn seam that drifted in a nonexistent breeze. The demon floated forward, ghostlike; it had no semblance of feet. A skeletal hand hooked toward them beneath its tattered sleeve, its beckoning skin gray and rotting off the gnarled bones. A wave of pungent smell hit him; Charlie nearly gagged on it, forcing himself to keep looking at the beast. In his mind, he heard the echoes of his father's voice.

_Dementors... It's Dementors, Molly..._

The demon took a long rattling breath - he could nearly feel it, he reflected wildly, the way it inhaled the very life from the room. George was motionless against his chest and he held him tighter, heart pounding, praying.

_Not two... I won't lose both of them..._

The Dementor extended its dead hand, nearing them. With each breath it took, Charlie began to feel faint; his head was buzzing, his vision swaying. Frost tingled his limbs, lulling him to give in to the cold embrace slowly tightening around his chest. He drew a shuddering, difficult breath, fighting to resist the monster's cold wrath.

"I...won't... I won't let you take them!"

Reaching blindly sideways, he felt for the lamp beside the bed. His fingers closed around cold metal and, without thinking, he flung it. Glass shards exploded against the Dementor's chest and it paused a moment in its course, its sightless hood twisting from side to side. Its invisible gaze locked with Charlie's; a chill went down his spine as the Dementor soundlessly reached for him, spiny hands groping the air.

It was nearing... Seconds slowed down as the irate Dementor moved in to feed on its prey. Charlie shut his eyes at the last instant, already feeling the icy prick of the Dementor's claws closing in on his skin.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

A sudden bright flash of light illuminated the room; surprised, Charlie glanced up, and recognized the intrusion as a weasel charging headlong at the Dementor. An unearthly shriek split the air as the dark demon fell back; the spectral weasel, pulsating with light, moved in pursuit. In a whirl of black cloth, the fiend fled from the chamber.

Sudden warmth flooded back into his body, and Charlie managed to sit up. There was a pounding of footsteps and Arthur, panting, appeared in the doorway.

"Dad!"

"Charlie, Fred, George, are you all right?" Arthur advanced, wearily adjusting his glasses, but his eyes were sharp as he glanced over the three of them. "Did it hurt you?"

Charlie shook his head; his heart was still thundering from the rush of adrenaline from their encounter. The image of the Dementor standing over them haunted his consciousness. Without their father's intervention...they'd surely all be dead by now.

With that, his eyes fell on Fred, who still hadn't moved. His throat went dry, all his relief suddenly evaporated. George pulled away from his arms to crawl near his unmoving twin, soundlessly curling next to him.

"Dad," Charlie said, very quietly. He didn't know what else to say.

Arthur said nothing either, the color slowly draining from his face as he caught sight of the twins. "What happened?"

Charlie only shook his head. George was staring at Fred, as unmoving and as pale as his twin.

A stair creaked outside and as one Arthur and Charlie whirled toward the doorway, tense. A tall man stood there, his long beard glinting silver in the moonlight visible through the shattered window. Charlie drew a sharp intake of breath as hope flooded his veins; at once he recognized the proud figure of Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts and a powerful wizard renowned worldwide.

"Albus." Arthur stepped toward him. "It's my son, please-"

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes benevolent but somber as he strode into the room. Long purple robes billowed about him; Charlie subconsciously stepped aside to allow him to observe the twins.

As he did so, he felt a strange chill in his left side - as if the Dementor had brushed by. He glanced sideways, but saw nothing; nearby the two adults were poring over the bed.

"George," Arthur murmured, laying a hand on his son's shoulder. "You should go downstairs and see your mother - she's worried about all of you."

"No. Not until Fred's awake."

"George, he's not going to wake up," he said as gently as he could.

"No! He's gonna wake up, he's gonna." Stubbornly George remained glued to his twin's side, forehead touched to Fred's own cold front.

Arthur sighed heavily; suddenly he looked much older. "I'm sorry." He reached down, picking him up.

George screamed.

And then Fred opened his eyes.

Arthur didn't notice at first, preoccupied with the thrashing twin in his arms. Unhindered, Charlie ran to the bed.

"Fred!"

"Morning, Charlie," Fred mumbled around a yawn, rubbing his eyes. In an instant the color was back in his face as he grinned at his older brother, "I had this great dream I was banging on stuff upstairs, louder than even the ghoul!"

"F-Fred?" sniffed George, rubbing his nose on his sleeve.

"Huh? What's wrong, George?" Concern suddenly creasing his face, Fred sat up, taking in the scene wide-eyed: the broken window, the fear melting into relief in the others' expressions. His stare returned almost instantly to his twin, who hastily scrubbed tears from his face.

"Fred, you're all right?" Arthur asked in a voice mixed with relief and amazement. The fuss was all too confusing for a boy who had been simply asleep; Fred glanced quizzically to his twin for information. But George, smiling, could do nothing but wriggle out of his father's slackened grip and hug him.

"I knewed you'd wake up," he mumbled into his shirt.

Arthur glanced to Dumbledore, wondering if the older wizard had anything to do with this. Dumbledore, however, regarded the scene with nothing more than a thoughtful smile.

While the other Weasleys breathed a long sigh of relief, Fred glanced around the room, eyes wide. "What happened in here?"

Charlie shook his head, allowing a laugh. "I suppose you were making too much noise in your dream to notice, huh?"

Fred considered this, then grinned in sheepish agreement. "Prolly..."

In the joyful aftermath of the near-attack on the Burrow, there was much hugging and tears as the family reunited. He couldn't be blamed if Arthur neglected to mention Fred's strange behavior to Molly; as it was, it slipped his mind in the relief to see his family together once more unscathed.

_To be continued..._

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Please review!


	2. Chapter 1

**Hoshi no Hikari**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter or a certain anime. Or really any anime. ^^;

Author's Note - Flash forward to PoA!^^

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**Chapter 1 - Dementors Are Annoying Buggers, Aren't They?**

**Ten Years Later**

When he first resurfaced to awareness, it was dark.

He didn't know where he was; the pitch darkness engulfed his horizons, stifling him, seeming to grow ever deeper. Its strength was ensnaring, pulling him steadily deeper into its ominous embrace. Distantly he fought it - he struggled, thrashing, feeling with every movement that it was futile.

Then he was aware of the cold. It bit into his fingers and toes first - a tingling chill that turned his veins to ice. Tendrils curled around him, slithering up his limbs and into his very core, making each breath painful. Now he could hardly fight it; the darkness was pulling him downward, consuming him, absorbing his palpitating strength as it steadily tightened its grasp. He gasped for breath; his arms and legs were lead, dragging him downward.

He screamed, but only silence echoed back at him, as if the very darkness was laughing at his expense. The effort cost him as the last breath was squeezed from his lungs; he was falling back into the endless dark, on the verge of unconsciousness.

And with a hollow feeling in his heart, Fred Weasley knew he was alone.

(-)

There was someone violently shaking his shoulder. Pale blue eyes snapped open to a burst of light overhead; he blinked, disoriented, and recognized the flicker of candles. Still panting from the haunting memory of the nightmare, he lolled his head sideways. A familiar face was staring back at him, starkly pale in comparison to his vibrantly red hair. It took a moment for him to deduce speech from his moving lips.

"- Fred. Fred, you all right, mate?"

He took a shaky breath and sat up; the compartment swam around him and he brought a hand to his head, fighting back sudden nausea. Blinking, he glanced about and realized he was sprawled on the floor of the Hogwarts Express. Distantly he could hear the thunder of wheels and the hum of an engine, the carpet vibrating slightly beneath his palms. Slowly, he turned back to his twin crouched beside him, worry evident in his expression.

Fred tried to talk, but his mouth was inexplicably dry - he swallowed hard and glanced up at his double. "George, what - what happened?"

Since George seemed at a loss of explanation, it was Lee Jordan, on his other side, who piped up. "The train stopped, and went all dark and cold, 'member? Then you just... fainted." He shrugged, perplexed; his dark eyes were unusually large.

"You were having a fit, mate," George croaked. "Screaming and thrashing... Seriously scared us for a minute."

Their disconcerting reactions were enough to plant seeds of fear in his own mind. He couldn't remember much beyond a sudden, ensconcing chill – but that had only been a dream, hadn't it? Fred shook his head, scattering his worrisome thoughts with difficulty. "Whatever it is," he managed, and was pleased at the renewed steadiness of his tone, "it's passed now."

Fred stood, wavering, and braced himself against the door as he peered out into the unnaturally bright hallway. It was utterly deserted, candlelight flickering warmly in the brackets along the walls. He could still feel an icy presence on his skin and shuddered faintly. "What was _that_ about then?"

George was at his shoulder, but he said nothing.

"Whatever it was, it's gone now," Lee pointed out cheerily. "We'll be at Hogwarts soon."

Fred nodded, but he couldn't dismiss the incident entirely; his stomach was still twisting sickly. The fine line between dream and reality was immeasurably blurred; whatever nightmarish fiend had passed them by, it had haunted all three of them – the unnatural pallor of his twin and best friend proved as much. George practically forced him back into his seat.

"You're really pale, you know," he whispered, sitting across from him.

Fred offered a half-grin. "So are you."

George didn't laugh; he was eyeing him somberly. "That chill...it felt a bit too familiar..."

Fred glanced sharply at him. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean, it could have been Dementors."

Fred snorted. "A bit far from Azkaban isn't it? Relax, George, I think we're a bit too old to have nightmares about Dementors."

George didn't respond to that, diverting his gaze.

"Hey, I've still got some chocolate frogs," Lee said offhandedly, interrupting them as he dug in his pockets. He tossed a vibrant package to each of the twins. "Works wonders when you're chilled."

The chocolate did ease his stomach a bit, though Fred noticed George was still watching him apprehensively. He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes - George had always been a bit more cautious than him, a bit more withdrawn, the one to draw the line when they went too far. He, on the other hand, could only be described as reckless.

Fred leaned his head against the cool window. There were dark clouds gathering in the distance, even though the interior of the train was still well lit. His mind lingered on the strange incident. George might have had a point about the Dementors. He hadn't faced them himself, but George had witnessed their presence once, when they had been much younger; and the events surrounding that incident had been equally eccentric. Reflecting on the Dementors made him feel ill again, so Fred strived to focus on the other two's banter.

"Fifth year already, can you imagine?" Lee sighed wistfully, leaning back with his arms behind his head.

"OWL year, for the precious few who care for that sort of thing," Fred chipped in with a grin.

Lee feigned surprise. "OWLs are only The Second Most Important Examinations of Our Lives." He formed air quotes around the haughty words, echoing several of their professors.

"And pass up the perfect opportunity for pranking? I think not." Fred nudged his silent twin. "_'_Sides, George and I have a few schemes brewing already. This'll be a year for the history books."

Lee leaned forward eagerly, grinning. "Do tell."

They complotted about the year ahead until the sky darkened outside; by the time the Hogwarts Express dragged itself into the station a light rain pattered on the window. Thunder rumbled in the distance; on the hillside, Hogwarts' proud silhouette was barely visible. Donning their black school robes and ensuring to pull up their hoods, the trio exited the train.

"Glad I'm not crossing the lake today," Lee remarked as they passed a confused huddle of first-years moving in the opposite direction. The giant bulk of Hagrid's figure was visible over the crowd up ahead, his customary bellowed greeting meeting their ears.

"First years, first years o'er 'ere."

They joined the steady stream of students bundled in heavy cloaks headed for the castle; passing beneath the baleful light of his bobbing lantern, Hagrid gave them a nod and a wave of acknowledgement, nearly taking out a nearby tall seventh year.

"All righ', Weasleys?"

"Hey, Hagrid," the twins chorused.

As cool as the evening was, they moved at a brisk pace to where the horseless carriages waited. They joined the end of the queue, grouping together to stay warm as they waited. Lee peered around on tip-toe, but he couldn't spot any of their fifth-year companions. Fred began to feel a growing chill again, sickly twisting his stomach and making his mind numb. Discreetly he tried rubbing some feeling back into his arms while the other two were distracted.

All around him people were moving, hurrying to get to the carriages. The overwhelming bustle and close contact was enough to push his queasiness over the edge. Swallowing back the bile rising in his throat, Fred reached out and grasped his twin's arm. George had been searching out Lee, who'd disappeared into the sea of people - he turned back, eyes widening at the sight of his cadaverously pale brother.

"Need air," Fred rasped out before staggering away through the crowd, head ducked.

In a few quick strides George grew even with him, mumbling apologies as he pushed his way through the throng. Fred was wavering dangerously, and he grabbed his arm, guiding him steadily. He didn't question him, though, until they left the crowd of students behind. Fred sank down on a rock, supporting his head in both hands, taking deep swallows of air.

"Sorry," he mumbled after a moment, but didn't elaborate. He still looked unnaturally pale, but he was better than he had been standing in the crowd, George deemed. With a faint sigh he shouldered off his outer cloak, draping it around his twin. Fred cast him a sharp look, but George cut him off before he could argue.

"Don't lie to me, Fred. I don't know what's going on, but I know you're not well."

Fred cracked a half-smile. "Do I really look that bad?"

George found no need to answer that question, and instead settled beside him, crossing his arms against the evening chill. A hazy silence hung around them; on the edge of the forest, they could just perceive the last stragglers in line for their carriages, their conversation hushed over the distance. Rain was falling more heavily now, but they had momentary shelter beneath the reaching branches of a willow. High above, through the thick shroud of clouds, George sighted the carved claw of the crescent moon.

Fred shifted after a moment. "George, you really don't have to stay with me. Lee's already gone ahead -"

George shook his head. "You really are dense, you know? I'm not going to leave you out here alone."

"I'm fine, really," he reassured him. "Just...tired, that's all."

"Right," George said flatly. "And Dementors didn't have anything to do with this."

Fred shot him an irritated glare. "Will you stop it with the Dementors already? We don't even know if that's what it really was."

"I know what I felt that night, Fred," he said, very quietly. "It's been ten years, but...this was the same. I thought I was going to lose you again."

Fred glanced away, massaging his temples faintly. "Sorry," he muttered. "But...if they were really there, how come no one else reacted to it?" His voice was still bitter, but this time it seemed directed at himself.

George hesitated. "Lee and I weren't exactly peachy either, mate," he said uneasily. "It got really cold in there, and there was this feeling of emptiness...I thought I'd never be happy again."

Fred didn't answer to that, but stood up suddenly. "Let's go," he muttered. "Last carriage probably left already."

George knew he was avoiding the subject, but didn't press the matter for now. He was worried; whatever happened to his brother, it hadn't been natural... The eeriness of his nightmarish screams echoed in George's ears, and he shivered despite himself.

He broke out of his thoughts when Fred tossed his robes back at him; catching the bundle on instinct, he immediately tried to hand it back to him. Fred shook his head.

"Don't catch cold because of me," he said gruffly, tugging up his hood before heading for the path through the trees. George was only a step behind.

They had expected their ethereal ride to be long gone; but to their surprise, a lone figure stood by the last rickety cart, gazing up at it transfixed. Silver moonlight glinted in the pale locks cascading down her shoulders. She hardly seemed aware of the fact that she herself was getting wet, instead utterly tranquil.

George slid to a stop, grabbing Fred's arm. "Isn't that...?" he hissed to his twin, but the girl had already turned around. Her eyes were very wide as she appraised them, unblinking.

"Hello," she greeted them airily, without her eyes leaving their faces. "Are you also looking for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack?"

Fred barely stifled a snicker; George blanched. Of all people, they had to share their carriage with "Loony" Lovegood, whose housemates in Ravenclaw even said she was insane. George cleared his throat.

"Um, no, we're not. We're just trying to get to the school." He cast a worried glance sideways at his twin; even if he hadn't said anything, his strained grimace was evidence enough. George grit his teeth - he'd put up with Loony as long as necessary if it meant getting Fred to Hogwarts - and the hospital wing, if needed - as quickly as possible.

"Er, listen. You're not using that carriage, are you?"

"Well, I suppose I am," Loony sighed with a longing sweep of the surrounding forest. "The Snorkack herd aren't anywhere nearby - they're awfully shy. All the people must have scared them off."

"Yeah, probably," George supplied vaguely, hoisting himself up into the carriage first. Fred followed a moment later, turning back to offer a hand up to Loony. George's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't dare say anything in front of her.

Loony stared at his proffered hand a long moment, her silver gaze indecipherable. Then she slipped her smaller hand into his, and Fred had to cover a gasp: he had been jarred by a sudden, almost electrical shock at their contact. Quickly he hefted her much lighter form into the carriage, then hastily shifted away to sit beside his twin.

"Since when are you the gentleman?" George murmured in his ear, sounding as if he was disguising a laugh.

"Shut it," Fred hissed back.

Loony resorted to staring at him in silence for the course of their trip, which didn't do anything to ease his nerves. The carriage lurched forward, suddenly animate, and moved on creaky wheels toward the castle in the distance. Fred leaned back, eyes closed, trying to lose himself in the rocking motion of the vehicle. But the ride was far too uneven, and each bump seemed to tighten the cold knot in his chest. He was shivering now, sick to his stomach, wondering distantly if he really would pass out this time. He glanced quickly at George, hoping his twin had missed his worsening pain; but George had gone pale.

"They're here," he barely mouthed. The air was so cold now, he could see each puff of breath; now neither of them could deny the presence of something unearthly. Fred had no rebuttal and merely nodded, mute.

The Dementors were close by.

He glanced at Loony, wondering if she felt their effects too; but she merely sat quietly, hands folded in her lap, eyes boring into his head. Fred looked away.

Slowly, the menacing presence faded, and Fred breathed again. The castle looming out of the shadows was a welcome sight, with warm lights aglow in the windows. Stomach growling at the thought of the lavish feast ahead, Fred jumped down from the carriage first. He wasn't disappointed to see it go. After a pointed nudge, George aided Loony down from the carriage; Fred eyed them suspiciously, but his twin showed no sign of the same shock. Unnerved, he finally shook off the occurrence as a conjecture of his imagination.

At a quick walk they crossed the deserted hallways, their steps leading them to the Great Hall. One of the grand oak doors was propped slightly open, emitting a welcoming circle of light. Every few minutes a wave of cheering crested over them. Fred and George exchanged a glance before tiptoeing nearer; Fred realized distantly they'd lost their Ravenclaw companion somewhere along the trek, but it didn't deter his mood greatly.

The twins sneaked in the Great Hall just as Professor Flitwick carried away a familiar patched hat on a stool. The Sorting was evidently finished - but that meant it was time to eat. Fred grinned in relief as he plopped down at the red-and-gold Gryffindor table between Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson, who leaned over to promptly hiss, "Where were you two?" with an indignant look at their sopping robes.

Fred mouthed _Later_ to her as a hush fell over the hall: at the head table, Dumbledore rose to greet the crowd of students with his palms upheld.

"Welcome!" he smiled, eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast."

Lee groaned, hungrily eyeing the empty dishes glinting in front of them. George's brow furrowed as he stared at the headmaster with unusual seriousness, his thoughts immediately returning to their close brush with the Dementors.

_Finally, maybe we'll learn what's _really_ going on around here._

The light seemed to dim slightly from Dumbledore's gaze as he continued. "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

A murmured hush rippled through the crowd; George elbowed Fred in the ribs, who grunted, "I know."

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds, and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises - or even Invisibility Cloaks. It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses."

Fred felt a faint chill go down his spine at those words; glancing around, he saw grim masks on the surrounding silent students. Even he, for once, had no desire to test the rule. In fact, he would have been more than glad if he never had to go near a Dementor again.

"I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the Prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to ensure no student runs foul of the Dementors."

Fred snorted faintly as he saw Percy, several seats down, straighten in his seat, his new badge flashing on his chest. _A lot that git can do to protect us,_ he reflected, rolling his eyes.

"On a happier note," Dumbledore continued, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year..."

Fred's mind wandered as Dumbledore introduced Professor Lupin, supposedly their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. His worn robes and haggard looks didn't chalk him up as much of a strong prospect. After Dumbledore declared Hagrid would be replacing the retired Professor Kettleburn at Care of Magical Creatures, he then concluded: "I believe that to be everything of importance. Tuck in!"

And with that he settled back in his chair to an appreciative smattering of applause. It had hardly died down when the vacant golden dishes in front of the twins were suddenly brimming with extensive intricate spreads of meat, platters of broiled vegetables, and mouth-watering stacks of cakes and pastries. Fred caught George's eye and grinned; they alone of most all the school knew the secret chefs working below now, scurrying to feed all of the ravenous students.

Fred was starving after his ordeal on the train, and gladly helped himself to seconds of everything. The delicious food warmed the last of the lingering chill from the Dementors, and he was at last able to put it from his mind, instead catching up with Angelina, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet, whom he hadn't seen all summer. When Angelina inevitably reminded him of her question, he laughed it off, saying they had gotten a bit lost in the woods. She pursed her lips, not quite believing him after years of listening to the twins' wild tales, but she knew better than to press the issue, which he was thankful for.

At long last, the feast was over, and the considerably fuller and sleepier Gryffindor fifth years headed up the stairs to their common room. At the portrait of the pink lady, Lee supplied the password, _Fortuna Major,_ which he'd overheard from Percy on the way.

The twins feigned horrified glances at him at the mention of their older sibling; Fred took him aside to loudly inquire if he was feeling all right. "Because, you know, Percival-itis is quite infectious."

Lee good-humoredly swatted him away with a grimace.

And so it was laughing that the group parted. Despite the Dementors he knew to be lurking outside, Fred was quite content as he fell into bed. They were stationed out far enough that he needn't think of them until a Hogsmede weekend, the only time he could foresee leaving the castle. Besides, he reasoned, smirking faintly, the Dementors didn't know about the secret passages out of Hogwarts, which he and George knew like the back of their own hands. Thus reassured that he could safely ignore the Dementors for a good while, he drifted off into a deep sleep.

_To be continued..._

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Please review!


	3. Chapter 2

**Hoshi no Hikari**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter or a certain anime.

Author's Note - And so the plot thickens... I promise I'll reveal what the crossover is soon, but for now... ;P

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**Chapter 2 - Potter's Not the Only One with Fangirl Issues**

Rain lashed against the high windowpanes, scouring downward like the long, jagged claws of some abhorrent monster. Outside, dark clouds obscured the moon's vision; only the occasional swift flash of jagged lightning cast a sudden ray of light over the unwelcoming landscape. Above it all, the wind's furious howl rose and pummeled the glass panes in vain.

The dank corridors of the castle were shrouded in night's spell; a cold breath seeped in through the cracks in the ancient stone walls. At night, when the tumultuous waves of students and their buoyantly echoing chatter were gone, the deserted castle seemed older - more menacing. Entombed in a blanket of eerie silence, the slightest scuffle of footsteps, of steady breathing, echoed unnervingly in the endless gloom.

Fred Weasley didn't slow, even as his heart began to hammer in his chest. He didn't know where, exactly, he was headed; but by the sudden quickness in his breath, the electric excitement in his veins, he suspected he was getting close. He wasn't worried - he knew the castle like the back of his hand, or his twin's; and the thought of getting lost even at this dark hour was nothing more than laughable. So, with a cheery acceptance of the unknown, he tossed aside his rationale and merely followed where his footsteps were guiding him.

The last thing he could remember was falling asleep to the warm comfort of his four-poster bed; the next thing he knew, he was wandering the winding passages of the broad castle in the dark. His nighttime adventures were nothing new to him; since he'd been young he'd experienced them at random, finding himself wandering into the strangest places in the dark. By morning, however, he'd always awaken in his own bed, leading George to doubt the wild stories he told him. _Well, _Fred then would say with a heavy sigh, _it's your loss. Maybe next time you'll think to come with me._

He rounded the corner, mindlessly aware of the chill of stone floor seeping into his bare feet. His light pajama pants hung a good couple inches off the ground and he'd neglected to wear socks to bed again. He ignored the sensation, allowing his mind to wander.

A leering tapestry loomed out on his left; the interwoven pattern of dueling monsters toyed his memory somewhat as he rounded another corner, ending up in a long and empty hallway.

_The second floor corridor…_

He noted it, absently. The map he'd endlessly poured over in his youth surfaced once more in his mind, orienting him. He could imagine it now, tucked away in the safety of the bottom of his trunk. Now Fred wondered what the magical map would say if someone glanced at it now - a Weasley twin, sneaking around after dark? Nothing out of the ordinary.

He smirked slightly to himself and drifted onward.

He wasn't habitually clumsy – but now he tread on cat's feet, unconsciously very attuned to every noise around him. Padding slowly forward, he strained his ears, blinking on the darkness. The hairs on the back of his neck were on end; he saw nothing in the pitch black, but it was as though the world had suddenly sharpened around him, alerting him of a presence nearby…

"Where do you think _you're_ going?"

The insolently patronizing voice arose behind him; in a split-second he whirled around, suddenly jolted back to full consciousness. A round, spectacled, faintly transparent face peered back at him. As he jerked back in surprise, she did too, drifting a few feet away from him.

"Moaning Myrtle," Fred managed, a slow half-grin reaching his face. He realized distantly that his every muscle had gone tense and strived to ease them, stepping back. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. I thought you might've been Filch or something." He smirked to himself.

Myrtle sniffed, drawing herself up to drift above him. "Well, that's rude. You did just walk by my bathroom, and not even a hello? All I get for visitors these days are some cruel sixth years who throw things through me." Her voice trembled at that last comment and she had to choke back an abrupt sob.

"Well, sorry," Fred said flippantly, shrugging, "I didn't notice."

Too late, he realized he'd said the wrong thing, as Myrtle's voice rose in an alarming warbling wail.

"Notice _me_? Why should you? Who should _ever_ pay any attention to a g-ghost in a g-girl's toilet?"

_Shit._

Eyes widening in alarm, Fred glanced around hastily, knowing the noise was a siren to Filch and his sentry cat. His mind raced for a solution and he strived to pacify the wailing ghost. "I didn't mean that, okay? Now quiet down, will you? I don't need anyone finding me here."

"Find you?" Myrtle hiccupped, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She raised her gaze to him a bit curiously. "Why should anyone mind you? You're just another ghost."

"Well-" he began, irritated by her simplicity, before faltering, "Wait, I'm not a-"

"You're the only other student ghost I've ever seen around here," she remarked, leaning closer to peer curiously into his face. "You must be new. Well, if you're looking for a place to stay," she smiled coyly, drawing uncomfortably close to him, "you can always can share my toilet."

Face burning, Fred backed away. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm _not _a ghost. I'm a student here and I just was – was sleepwalking." His mood was deteriorating fast from their confrontation - Myrtle could be annoying on her good days. The twins' relation with her had been shaky from the start, when they had tried to spy on the girls' bathroom during their first year. She hadn't taken too kindly to it – the memory of being chased down the halls by a shrieking ghost was vivid enough of a reminder. Fortunately, she didn't seem to remember the incident quite as well.

"Oh, really?" Myrtle said sweetly. "Sleepwalking, is it? Then how come I can do this?" With a smile apt to petrify a Basilisk, she reached down and closed her fingers around his left hand. Her vice grip was as cold as ice; Fred gasped, half from the cold, half from pure shock.

"But - you're a ghost - how come-" _How come you feel so _solid_?_ Her hand on his was as real as the cold stone beneath him. Though he could feel no warmth nor pulse beneath her skin, he was sure, if he tried to chuck a textbook at her as he had done in first year, it would rebound instead of passing through her translucent body. And, he reflected with a chagrined grimace, she could probably kill him this time if she felt so inclined.

Myrtle let out a cackle, grinning in delight. "I knew you were a ghost! You looked a little pale around the edges." She prodded his cheek enthusiastically; unnerved, Fred swatted her hand away.

"I'm not dead! This must all just be a dream or something," he fumed, trying to wrench his arm away from her and failing. But suddenly Myrtle pulled away from him of her own accord, her eyes wide. Her hand flew to her mouth.

"You didn't...die?"

He snorted, disgruntled. "Well, duh. I've only been trying to tell you that for the _past five minutes._"

"Then you must be...no, you can't be..." She shook her head wildly. "Not one of those monsters..."

"What are you talking about?" Fred asked warily, inching away from the preoccupied ghost; when she finally raised her eyes, she appraised him silently from head to toe.

"You don't look like it... But maybe...maybe you're one of _them_?"

The hushed way she said _them_, with an excited sparkle in her eye, was enough to send shivers down his spine.

"All right, I told you, I'm not a ghost," he muttered. "There's no point in me staying here."

"But of course!" she gasped, clasping his hand again as he attempted to escape. _Damn it...!_ For a ghost, she sure was strong.

"As long as you're a half-ghost," she jubilantly declared, "...we can go on a date!"

_I'd rather die, _Fred thought in mortification, but Myrtle was already dragging him down the hall in her clutches, eagerly gushing. "I know all the best places in Hogwarts! Or even, if you're feeling feisty, we can go to the Shrieking Shack," she batted her eyelashes at him. It took all his self-control not to gag.

"Great...but Hogwarts is fine..."

_If George finds out about this, he'll die laughing. _Fred resolved to ensure his twin never, ever learned of this particularly embarrassing venture.

Myrtle squealed. "I haven't had this much fun in fifty years!"

_Someone needs to get out more, _Fred thought, mentally steeling himself for whatever other insane arrangements she had in mind for him. He struggled to match her pace down the corridor; they practically flew down the moving staircases, her cold grip on him the entire time.

Reaching the Entrance Hall, she finally eased up on him enough for him to stop and catch his breath, glancing around warily. Already he was calculating how long it would take to run to the nearest secret passage. He just needed a way to distract Myrtle...

Up ahead a silvery figment was floating, deep in conversation with a portrait of a stately man. Fred recognized, with a leap of hope, the ruffles of Nearly-Headless Nick's outfit. He waved to the ghost with a shout of greetings.

Nick turned in such surprise that his head toppled sideways; he righted it as he drifted nearer to the duo, and his face broke into a smile. "Why, if it isn't one of my own house! And an infamous Weasley too. You are George, yes?"

"Actually I'm Fred," he grinned.

"Pardon me, then. Ah, good evening, Myrtle."

"Hello, Nick," gushed Myrtle, clinging quite painfully to his arm - Fred figured he had frostbite by now. "We're on a date."

"Oh, my." Nick's brow furrowed but he made no further comment. "Well, do enjoy yourselves...but not too much. Be wary, there have been...sightings tonight."

"What d'you mean?" Fred demanded. To him it seemed the ghosts had their own particular lingo that they were quite happy to keep him in the dark about.

Nick's gaze darkened. "We do not speak of it," he said gravely, turning away. "Take an old ghost's advice and stay in the lighter passageways. Good night to you two."

"Good night," they echoed, Fred with some puzzlement. He didn't know what was going on, but it sounded ominous...maybe it could sway Myrtle to leave him be.

He didn't have a chance to try his strategy, however, as she was already parading him down another winding corridor. She was giggling madly as they ran, her pigtails bouncing behind her. Fred only sighed in exasperation.

They stopped short in a quiet wing of the castle - Fred sighted their Astronomy class flash by on his right. Myrtle paused suddenly in front of a secluded window, settling on the ledge and patting the space beside her.

Fred sat, unwillingly.

"So, how long have you been a ghost?"

"I told you, I'm not a ghost."

"Well, surely you've been this way for some time." She poked his cheek again; Fred ground his teeth in annoyance. "You're the first person to have a full conversation with me in a long time! You must be special," she concluded dreamily, observing him with her hands folded beneath her chin.

Fred wouldn't deem their exchanges a "conversation", but resigned himself to nod vaguely and contemplate plans for escape. Myrtle chattered at him for a bit, most of which he ignored and only acknowledged with the occasional nod. He was just wondering if she would ever lose interest in him when a sudden earsplitting shriek split the gloom.

Myrtle sat bolt upright; Fred blinked, glancing around.

"What was that?"

"Them," she breathed, eyes wide. "We should go."

Just like that, he was free? Fred frowned dubiously. "Why?"

Myrtle gave him a small shove. "No one's safe when they're within the walls! Just hurry, you've got to hide before they find you!"

Utterly bemused, Fred did as told and ran. He lost track of Myrtle - thankfully - in the twisting hallways, and only stopped running when he was outside the fifth floor passageway he and George often used to hide from Filch. He opened the hidden tapestry with a whispered command and crawled inside. In the darkness his heart pounded abnormally loudly, his rasp of breathing echoing around him.

_What the hell's out there in the castle?_

He didn't know, but he could feel a presence - a chill deeper than the physical cold of his feet, or the reminder of Myrtle's grip on his arm. Something was out there...looking for him...

Even wondering as he was, and hearing every noise as the approach of a monster, eventually the long night's ventures caught up with him. His eyelids grew heavy and it was soon that he drifted off to the comforts of a large and warm bed...

(-)

Fred Weasley opened his eyes slowly on a darkened room. He raised his head from his pillow, blinking in mild surprise: the last thing he could remember was running down the corridors in fear of his life. He yawned, rolling over, wondering if it had only been a dream.

"Finally, you're awake."

The familiar voice jolted him back to consciousness; he sat bolt upright, his limbs crying out in protest. Fred groaned faintly; he was as sore as if he had just run a marathon. Rubbing the back of his neck, he blinked in the direction of the speaker. A figure was perched on the edge of his bed, watching him.

"George? Have I told you not to scare me like that?"

His twin didn't laugh. "Have I told _you_ not to scare me like_ this_?"

"What're you talking about?" Wincing, Fred rubbed his left arm, which felt suspiciously cold.

George slid off the bed and marched over to the window. "What I mean is this." He thrust open the curtains to a sudden burst of light; Fred shielded his eyes, blinking. When he could see again, he saw the fifth year dormitory was deserted: miscellaneous clothing and items were scattered everywhere, signs of the hurried students who had left in a rush for their early classes. Outside, the sun hung high in the cloudless blue sky with no reminder of yesterday's storm to be seen.

"Blimey, George, what time is it?"

"Just about noon," he said coolly, folding his arms. As he stood by the window, Fred couldn't look at his silhouetted expression without nearly blinding himself again.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he demanded crossly instead.

George let out a noise of frustration. "Don't you think I tried?"

Fred didn't know how to answer that.

George sighed, flopping down beside him. "You were "sleepwalking" again, weren't you." Fred knew he didn't need to answer that one, and didn't.

His twin sighed. "You know I hate it when you do that, Fred. When you don't wake up... It's hell to get people to leave you be, else they'll think..." He trailed off, then drove on the argument, "I'm worried too, you know. I know you don't care what others think, but... at least think of me. Please."

Fred absently picked at a fray in the blanket. "Look, I know what you do for me, and I'm grateful for it really. But I can't control it. It's like... It's happening more and more often. Not always the whole night. I don't know why."

"You should have told them," he urged. "The first time, all those years ago. We really all thought you were dead."

"I know," Fred said flatly. "You've told me."

A long moment of silence followed. George lay beside him, hands behind his head, contemplating the ceiling. His creased expression conveyed the turmoil in his mind, and Fred couldn't help but feel guilty. He was at a loss to explain the origins of his dreams, or to control their happenings.

As far back as he could remember, they'd haunted him - not dreams per say, though he couldn't find words to describe their true nature. It was like he was sleepwalking, yet fully conscious; his words and actions were his own, so real that he wondered if he was, in fact, awake the entire time. He'd told George his speculations, but his twin remained skeptical. If he was really wandering around at night, then why couldn't his twin ever hear or see his comings and goings? Neither did this explain the eerily deep sleep he entered on these occasions, so much so that even George admitted it was a perfect illusion of death.

His twin had ample reason to be afraid - Fred was, too, he privately admitted. But he couldn't reveal as much to George, when it would only increase his anxiety over his state. Most concerning, Fred thought, was his creepy confrontation with Moaning Myrtle last night...

"You should go to Madam Pomfrey," he mumbled faintly.

Fred glanced sharply at his twin. "And tell her what? I'm having weird dreams?" He snorted, "A load of good that'll do."

A pained look flashed across George's face; regretting his sardonic words, Fred turned away.

"Look...it's not hurting anyone, right? It's not a big deal."

"I don't want to lose you, Fred."

He stopped, having no rebuttal to those words; George was avoiding his gaze. "I don't know what it is you dream of, sleepwalking or whatever. But I know that you didn't leave your bed last night, and this morning..." He swallowed hard. "It scares me every time you do that. What if next time, Fred, you don't wake up...?"

"I don't know much more than you," he snapped back, growing irritated. "But nothing's happened all these years, George, so why are you worrying now? We've done loads of stuff more dangerous than this, all the time, and you've never had a second thought about it."

"Those times I was with you," George countered.

Fred stopped. Every waking moment, he was never far from his twin's side; they did everything together, practically since they had been born: even Hogwarts couldn't abate their routine, as they attended the same classes, held the same friendships, and even shared their role as Gryffindor Quidditch team's star Beaters. Only in sleep was Fred frighteningly different... That alone had to be unnerving, let alone the unusual state of his dreams, something far out of range of either of their control. Suddenly, George's fear was a lot clearer. As well, Fred could admit, was his own.

Fred stretched, striving to get his mind off those dark thoughts. Something strange was going on here, he knew, and remembered George's accusation last night. _Could it be the Dementors caused this, too?_

It was too much of a coincidence to rely on - sure, Dementors _had _been around the first time he'd dreamt, when he'd only been five years old. But that explanation was moot when it came to all the other times it had happened over the years. _Why now?_ was a fairly prominent question in his mind.

Fred rubbed his eyes, feeling strangely drained. His body throbbed - it was as if he hadn't gotten any sleep last night at all.

"George," he mumbled, "you going to class?"

George sat up, eyeing him warily. "Potions is halfway over by now," he pointed out. "It's the first day of classes - I don't know about you, but I wouldn't be so eager to see Snape's long nose again so soon."

Fred forced a smirk at the attempt to cheer him up. "No one said I was going." Pulling the blankets more comfortably around himself, he rolled over. "Wake me before lunch, m'kay?" he mumbled into his pillow.

George was watching him. He could feel his twin's eyes on his back - George knew he was evading the subject of their discussion, and was clearly dissatisfied - but he said nothing. For that Fred was grateful, if not a little guilty for shutting him out, as he was distantly aware of long curtains dragging shut. The room plunged into welcome darkness once more.

Half asleep already, Fred smiled into his pillow.

_I owe you one, George._

_To be continued..._

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Please review!


	4. Chapter 3

**Hoshi no Hikari**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter or a certain anime.

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**Chapter 3 - Why You Really Shouldn't Talk to Strangers**

Fred dreamed again.

He didn't realize it at first, as always, but as his muddled consciousness came to awareness, he recognized the long corridor stretching ahead of him. His dream-self, as he deemed it, wandered along the deserted first-floor corridor. His footfalls were steady onward even as his heart sank.

He was doing it again, unconsciously, even as he had set his entire mind against the thought of dream-walking again. Hadn't he and George nearly just fought over the state of his dreams? It was though he had broken a promise - a sworn oath his waking mind had readily accepted, but his other self, his dream self, had no say in.

He cursed the fact now, vehemently. Before, even if his dreams' freakish reality disturbed him when he awakened, he couldn't deny the strange attraction they presented. They were what made him different; and in a way he knew was selfish, he clung to that alteration, that fact that separated him from George. When he had been younger, he sometimes thought George's fervent opposition to his nightly walks was out of jealousy.

That was until he remembered George crying.

For nights after that first incident, when the Dementors nearly destroyed their home, he had nightmares. It didn't matter that he had slept through the incident (or, if he looked at it the other way, been upstairs with the ghoul the entire time) - the remaining destruction and haunted tales from his older brothers were enough to send his imagination reeling. And when he wasn't convinced he was petrified enough, his mind would conjure the image of his twin, stricken, face stained with tears, rushing to embrace him.

_I don't want to lose you._

George couldn't sleep, either; for nights they had huddled beneath the blankets together, swapping stories to keep the dreams at bay. When they inevitably dropped off to slumber, Fred had noted with bemusement, George found it necessary to prod him whenever he awakened in the night, from a nightmare or not. Thankfully, that habit died down until George was satisfied with waiting every morning until his brother awakened before moving too far from him, simply to reassure himself he was still there. Of course, if he didn't wake up fast enough, George wasn't a Weasley twin for nothing...Fred had been rudely awakened by a bucket of cold water to the head enough times to know that.

_Old habits die hard,_ Fred mused. Today had been the closest he'd seen George to repeating history, and he'd taken it like a jarring slap to the face. It didn't matter the strange nature of his dreams - he refused to betray his twin's trust for anything.

Mind made up, he turned and headed in the way he'd come, deep in thought. The back of his neck prickled a moment, an eerie sensation of someone watching him. He stopped, glancing up and down the corridor, but he was alone. Brushing off the feeling with difficulty, he marched on.

Fred paused in front of the moving staircase, thinking. All around him regal wizards rustled about in their portrait frames, murmuring to one another. Usually, he thought back, his dreams would end when he eventually tired himself out and his dream-self fell asleep...a feat that could, granted, take a whole night, and he didn't have much time to spare.

But Fred had just had an idea; heart thundering, he glanced up at the sets of stairs in front of him, and set off at a brisk climb for the seventh floor. His plan was simple; he just hoped it would work out as he thought.

If he were to simply go _back_ to bed, then that should reverse the dream process, right? Fred debated it in his head as he sprinted up the last set of stairs and, panting, slid to a stop in front of the pink lady's portrait.

"Fortuna Major," he gasped out.

The portrait didn't budge. The fat lady was cheerily engaged in conversation with her neighbors, what seemed to be a colorful tea party of older witches. He repeated the password, irritation prickling his insides as the pink lady continued to ignore him. Fred didn't have the patience for this now.

He near screamed at the portrait now. "Are you deaf, lady? I said, Fortuna-"

He stopped short as the portrait suddenly sprung open; the pink lady let out a shriek of laughter at something her companion said even as the passage to the Gryffindor common room gaped open. Fred, not about to question his luck, moved forward when something stopped him again.

Percy Weasley was climbing through the portrait hole, his Head Boy badge glimmering on the front of his prim robes. He was followed by two sixth years Fred vaguely recognized, both sporting Prefect badges.

"I don't know what Professor Dumbledore was thinking, hiring these Dementors," Percy said with a slight sniff of distaste. "It can't be too good for the students' health." He didn't seem to notice his younger brother standing right in front of him, his mouth hanging slightly open.

_He can't see me..._ Fred registered distantly. _It's exactly as Myrtle said..._ The thought of the ghost's claims made him shudder unconsciously.

Percy cleared his throat importantly. "As I was saying earlier..."

Then a slow, wicked grin crossed Fred's face as he got another idea. Adopting Percy's strict tone, he mimed loudly, "I WANT YOU TO KNOW I'M THE BIGGEST, UGLIEST GIT IN THE HISTORY OF HOGWARTS. I SHALL GO DOWN IN THE HISTORY BOOKS AS THE BIG HEADED BOY."

Needless to say, Fred felt quite a lot better after that little spiel. Percy finished his speech to his underlings at the exact same time, the boy and girl nodding respectfully. Fred didn't bother holding in his snickers. Instead he laughed openly at his deserving brother, who couldn't do a thing to stop him, even if he _had _been able to hear the insult.

Percy and his companions stepped out of the portrait hole, and Fred sobered quickly as he took his chance. He darted through the closing gap, accidentally brushing Percy's right arm as he passed.

The elder Weasley stopped suddenly short mid-sentence, earning questioning looks from his fellows. His left hand drifted to his arm.

"Is something wrong?" Fred heard the girl ask from the safety of the passage.

Percy sounded distracted. "It was just - a little chill."

Fred snorted; the git deserved a little supernatural scare. Pleased at a job well done, he turned to the more urgent matter at hand. Sprinting for the boys' dormitory, Fred hoped against hope that too much time hadn't already passed.

The stairway seemed to curve away forever until he reached the fifth year landing, gasping for breath. Making a mental note to work on his stamina before Quidditch season started, he fumbled with the door and stumbled inside.

In the dark, his eyes immediately sought out the familiar figure of his twin. George was perched on the edge of his bed; now he rose, turned toward the door with a puzzled frown.

Fred grinned widely. "George, it's me!"

"That's weird," George muttered, regarding the empty doorway. He moved to close the door - Fred barely sidestepped in time, eyeing his twin in confusion.

"George, can't - can't you see me?"

The truth hit him like a blow to the stomach. Just as Myrtle said, his dream-self was a ghost to everyone else - no, worse than a ghost. The world couldn't even see him; he was less than a figment, reduced to a lingering presence. His stomach was flip-flopping with nausea at the thought. What _was_ he? This couldn't be a dream - the horror was real enough.

With foreboding, he stepped toward his bed, footsteps slowed by the fear of what he'd find there. His throat was tight - his mind seemed beyond coherent thought.

He stopped above the bed, and for a moment he swore his heart stopped.

There, still as death, was Fred Weasley's body.

For a fleeting moment, he reflected, _George was right. He was right all along..._

Then the darkness claimed him as he fell back in a dead faint.

(-)

Fred sat bolt upright in bed, soaked in a cold sweat. He glanced wildly around the room, half expecting to see that...that spectral him staring back at him. When he assured himself it was deserted he slumped with his hands over his face, taking a long shuddering breath.

_It was only a dream...only a dream..._

He repeated the mantra to himself, striving to believe it, as he was distantly aware of George at his shoulder.

"Fred, are you all right? You're pale again..."

Fred forced himself to smile as he raised his head to his twin. "I'll be fine. Just...a nightmare, I guess." He laughed gruffly - it didn't sound like him at all.

George eyed him anxiously. "Are you sure you - you didn't dream again?"

"No," Fred lied through his teeth. "There was...a Dementor, I think."

George frowned at him, and Fred glanced quickly away. Did he know...? The need of lying to him made him feel even more ill, and so he strived to change the subject.

"It should be lunch soon, right?"

"Yeah - or it should be by now. I heard a commotion earlier, probably was the break."

"Right." Fred took a long breath to center himself. "I'll be right there - gonna shower first."

Before he had even finished the sentence a bundle of fresh clothes landed in his lap; he glanced to George's knowing smirk with a weak smile.

"D'you have a license to be reading my mind, mate?"

George snorted. "Only phonies like Trelawney need a license to prove their skill. I, on the other hand..." He waggled his fingers mysteriously. "I sense treacle tart in your future..."

Fred chucked a pillow at him good-naturedly.

(-)

Fred stood for a long time under the warm water, eyes closed, letting the steady stream drive away his darker thoughts. _What...am I?_ he wondered, staring at the back of his hands. There was a faint pattern of freckles over his knuckles - the same design, he knew, marked George's hands. He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned stark white, his heart pounding.

_Maybe Myrtle was right. Maybe I am a monster._

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he turned off the water and ran a towel through his hair. He glanced at himself in the mirror - a pale-faced boy stared back, his vibrant red hair sticking up at odd angles. Fred sighed, rubbing his face.

_Damn, George doesn't even need to be perceptive to notice something's up._

He strived to shake off his worries, however, and pasted on a grin as he went to meet his twin. George said nothing about the previous incident - for which he was again grateful - as they headed down through the empty common room. Fred remembered with a ghost of a smile his encounter with Percy, and automatically turned to George to let him in on it before he caught himself.

George couldn't know the truth about his dreams.

Reigning in another wave of nauseous fear, he sped up his pace; he brushed past George, who didn't question his hurry but allowed him to lead the way downstairs.

They were partway through the crowded entrance hall - students who had already lunched lingered about, chattering with their friends - when an unusual flicker of pale blond hair caught his eye. Turning, he noticed the second year Loony Lovegood surrounded by towering seventh year Slytherins.

Fred couldn't say they were acquaintances - heck, he'd never met her face-to-face before last night - but his skin still prickled with dislike of the Slytherins as he changed course, marching straight for their gang. As he watched, George trailing him uncertainly, he saw at their head Marcus Flint, captain of Slytherin's Quidditch team. The lanky boy leered down at her, wand thrust in her face.

That did it.

His vision swarming with red, Fred stormed forward, his wand in his hand before he was even fully conscious of his plan. "_Expelliarmus_!" he barked, and the wand jerked free of a surprised Flint's hand. The Slytherins glanced up as one to the Weasleys, their gazes stormy.

Breathing hard, Fred fell into step beside Loony, who blinked up at him with a hint of surprise in her wide silver eyes. George appeared on her other side, wand out.

"Leave her alone," Fred snarled.

"What's the matter, Weasley?" Flint leered at him. "Did we touch your girl?"

The burly Slytherins to either side of him - Bole and Derrick, he recognized, the Slytherin Beaters - guffawed appreciatively.

"Shut it," Fred hissed. "You should try picking on someone your own size sometime."

"Like you?" Flint appraised him with a glance up and down, smirking. The Slytherin Beaters cracked their knuckles; they were both several feet taller than the twins, and far more bulky. An almost feral glint appeared in their eyes as they appraised their Gryffindor rivals, smirking.

George stepped up. "You wouldn't be so cocky on the pitch. We'll kick your sorry asses any day and you know it."

Flint's face turned a nasty red. "Run your mouths all you want, Weasleys. We'll see how easy that is once we break your jaws."

"Why don't you try it, bastard," Fred spat, raising his wand warningly.

"_Furnunculus_!" A beam of red light flew from Bole's wand.

"_Protego_!" George immediately countered; a silvered dome burst from his wand, and the curse deflected to rattle a suit of armor over his shoulder. All around them, Fred was distantly aware, students were backing out of the way of the duel, afraid they'd be hit by stray spells. Someone was screaming.

"_Tarantallegra_!" Fred aimed the spell at Bole, whose legs began to jitter in a mad dance. Out of control, he stumbled into Flint and the two sprawled on the floor. Fred grinned darkly.

"What's so funny, Weasley?" a voice growled in his ear; Fred's head jerked back the next moment as a burly arm hooked around his neck in a headlock. Derrick cackled down at him - "Not so tough now, are you?"

Fred gasped, scrabbling at his grip; he blinked back stars as Derrick's arm tightened around his throat. _Damn you...can't breathe..._

"George!" he choked out an urgent appeal, but as his brother turned to help him Flint regained his feet, wand back in hand, revenge in his eyes.

"_Diffindo_!"

"_Rictusempra_!"

Marcus Flint fell to his knees as a beam of white light struck him in the chest. He began rasping madly, arms clamped to his stomach, a terrible travesty of laughter. George, meanwhile, staggered back, a hand flying to his cheek. Blood seeped between his fingers.

"B-bastard," Fred panted, struggling for breath.

A quiet voice from behind him announced, "_Petrificus Totalus_!"

Fred was suddenly able to breathe again as Derrick's limp body fell away from him. Glancing back, he noted the Slytherin boy staring blankly at the ceiling, arms and legs snapped to his sides. Loony Lovegood had her wand pointed steadily at his still form, an odd smile quirking her lips. He gave her a surprised nod of thanks, massaging his neck, before launching back into battle.

A quick "_Stupefy_!" knocked Bole away from his wavering brother, and then Fred whirled on Flint.

"_Never_," he seethed, staring at the teen rocking back and forth on his knees, still wheezing, "touch my brother again. _Got it_?"

"You'll - pay - for this - Weasley," Flint spat between spasms. "Just you - wait -"

"Let them know we're ready for a rematch anytime," Fred said bitterly, with a nod toward the two unconscious Slytherins on the floor. He turned away. He could already hear the authoritative voice of Professor McGonagall as she swept through the crowd; by the barely-restrained irate quaver in her tone, all hell was about to cut loose.

Fred pocketed his wand with a cheerful smile for what would happen next. He offered a mock bow to Loony Lovegood. "Sorry about that, miss. We'll gladly escort you to the Great Hall if you wish."

She only acknowledged his banter with an owlish blink.

"Fred," George appealed him with urgency; glancing to his twin, Fred paled to see his face had gone white, a long cut beneath his left eye. "We've got to move," he said thickly.

There was still time for them to make a break for it and take their chances - or they could openly take their punishment from McGonagall. Glancing back, Fred saw some Slytherins had already pulled their fellows back into the safe anonymity of the crowd; he bit back a growl, and made his choice.

"Come on!"

He grabbed George's arm and steered him toward a much friendlier red-and-gold section of the crowd. Then, reaching to his left, he clasped a hand around Loony's small wrist and pulled her in his wake. He caught only a flicker of her widened eyes; then he was running full-tilt into the sea of Gryffindors, ignoring the muffled complaints as he and George pushed their way through. There was a smattering of applause, too, which only encouraged his mad dash.

He and George dove from the milling confusion of the entrance hall into a darkened side passage. They didn't dare to stop to catch their breath, racing on until a large portrait bearing a dish of fruit came into view. George slid to a stop, leaning heavily against the wall.

"Damn," he gasped out. "Those Slytherins sure were in a foul mood, weren't they?"

"They were just asking to get their asses handed to them," Fred said tartly. Now that they were momentarily out of danger, he released his grip on Loony's arm. She withdrew quietly, quickly tugging down the sleeve of her robe - but not before Fred caught a flicker of angry red against her pasty skin. With reflexes born from years of Quidditch, he caught her arm even as she flinched back. Gingerly pushing up her right sleeve, his eyes widened.

Behind him, George swore softly.

"Who," Fred said slowly, "did this to you." His voice shook slightly as he released her, and Loony took a step back, covering the bloodstained makeshift bandage tied around her forearm. She didn't quite meet his eye.

"I angered a Crumple-Horned Snorkack and it bit me," she offered in way of explanation. By the way she played nervously with the end of her sleeve, it was less believable than usual.

Fred bit back a sharp retort, realizing he'd probably petrify the girl if he allowed his anger to get any farther. Instead he sighed, forcing aside the mystery with a few others he was shouldering at the moment, and proffered his hand. Loony blinked at him in confusion.

"I suppose we haven't introduced ourselves properly, yeah? I'm Fred, and this is my brother George." George nodded in her direction.

Loony didn't take his outstretched hand, but instead tilted her head, studying him. A small smile played at her lips. "I know who you are," she stated airily, her eyes boring steadily into Fred's head. "And I also know why you've been having strange dreams."

Fred swore his stomach just plummeted through the floor and into the dungeons. A familiar chill was working its way through his insides.

"I think..." he began dazedly, "...we need to talk."

_To be continued..._

* * *

Please review! By next chapter, you'll know what the crossover is, I promise... ;)


	5. Chapter 4

**Hoshi no Hikari**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter or a certain anime... ^^

* * *

**Chapter 4 - Silver-Eyed Savant?**

George glanced sharply at him, frowning; Fred ignored his brother's disapproving gaze on his back, instead staring into Luna Lovegood's mystifying smile. "I believe we do need to talk, Frederic Weasley," she echoed lightly.

_How much does she know? _Fred wondered, mind racing, unable to deduce the intentions behind her smile. _Scratch that, _how_ does_ _she know?_

Was Lovegood really as loony as everyone thought she was?

Utterly shaken, it took him a moment to realize George was addressing him. Glancing at his twin in a daze, he mumbled, "What?"

George rolled his eyes. "I said that crowd won't hold them up forever."

"Right." Fred shot a look over his shoulder; the remote passage was so far silent, but any moment could bring a vulture-like teacher down on them. "Let's get inside." He reached up to tickle the green pear when George caught his hand.

"Oi," he said, staring intently at Luna. "We're taking you into our trust with this, so don't tell anyone, all right?"

"Don't worry," she said breezily. "I already know house elves are actually a mutant breed of fungi charmed to understand human speech. Dad planted a conspicuous ring of asparagus around our house to keep them away." She added in a confiding whisper, "It's poisonous to them."

Fred took back his previous thoughts on her. _She really _is _bonkers..._

"Er - right," said George uncomfortably. "Let get in, shall we?" He reached up, lightly tickling the pear in the portrait. It began to shake violently as if laughing - then the portrait hole swung open, granting them passage into Hogwarts' prized kitchens.

Fred gestured Luna in first, staying back a moment to nudge George. "Have you ever seen them serve asparagus?"

"Well, no," George said with more than a little impatience. "Bloody hell, Fred, you don't believe her, do you?"

Fred glanced ahead to the blond girl surrounded by inquisitive house elves; she seemed perfectly serene in their midst, unruffled by the mystery of Hogwarts that would slack-jaw any ordinary person. He shook his head, "I don't know what to think anymore. I just want some answers."

"Me too, mate," George concurred quietly, stepping inside the portrait hole. With a last quick scan of the corridor, Fred entered as well, letting the portrait snap shut behind him.

He cast a look around the brightly lit chamber. Just as it had been last year, house elves bustled in every direction, most loaded down with dishes as the lunch meal neared an end. Already, a group were hard at work chopping vegetables, stirring huge pots emanating a delicious aroma, or delicately icing grand cakes for the evening feast. Four long tables marked the center of the room - a mirror image of the Great Hall upstairs.

Fred grinned and rejoined the other two. George, even as he wavered unsteadily on his feet, was amiably addressing the nearest elf. Fred distinctly heard butterbeer mentioned and smirked slightly.

As the elf bowed, his pointy nose nearly brushing the ground, and raced off to do as told, Fred laid a hand on his twin's shoulder.

"Got us some food," George assured him brightly. "We can stay here a while."

Fred nodded tersely. "You need the hospital wing, mate."

George shook his head - wincing and clapping a hand to his wounded cheek as he did. "Nothing the house elves can't handle. _'_Sides, Flint has horrid aim - he only nicked me."

With the amount of blood seeping from the wound, Fred disagreed with that last statement, but wisely held his tongue. Luna watched their exchange in contemplative silence; her stare, friendly or not, was more than a little disconcerting. Striving to ignore it, Fred guided George toward the end of the room, where plush chairs surrounded a roaring fire. When his twin was seated, he felt a little less guilty about his injury.

"Sorry for dragging you into this mess," Fred mumbled.

George shrugged him off. "You needed the backup, mate. Think it'll scar?" He prodded experimentally at the gash.

Fred peered at the long cut, then shook his head. "Dunno." He flagged the nearest house elf, who dropped a load of silverware in his enthusiasm to assist.

"What can Tobi do for the young masters today?" he squeaked, amber eyes bright.

Fred indicated his twin's injury; the house elf clapped his scrawny hands to his mouth in horror. "Got anything to help him?"

"Tobi will check right away!" the elf promised, scurrying away with zeal.

Fred shook his head at his antics, ceaselessly amused by the small creatures. He glanced up when Luna perched in the chair across from them.

"They seem quite nice," she remarked placidly.

"Bloody useful too," George pointed out, as Tobi came running back with a long strip of bandages trailing him like a banner. He tripped in his hurry and wound up flat on the floor at their feet, bandages tangled about his limbs. The twins burst out laughing jovially even as Fred bent to assist the house elf. George tapered off with a grimace, touching a hand to his cheek.

"Tobi is sorry-!" the elf began anxiously, but Fred waved a hand.

"Nah, it's all right. Nothing's damaged, right? You're a good boy," he said offhandedly. The elf practically beamed at him before skipping off.

With supplies now at hand, Fred set about cleaning George's wound, ignoring his protests that he could do as much himself. He worked swiftly, and soon stood back to check his handiwork: he'd wrapped the wound as best he could, and George seemed to have regained a bit of color to his face, at least.

"Thanks," he ducked his head with an embarrassed grin.

Fred grinned back, "Nothing to it." He glanced over to Luna, extending his offer. "Hey, if you want I can bandage your arm properly."

Luna stared at him, eyes wide. "You don't have to."

Fred shrugged. "Yeah, but I can."

She hesitated, but he wasn't about to take no for an answer, approaching her with a handful of bandages. "It's the least I can do, right?" he grinned.

Luna tilted her head, studying him curiously. "Most others would have laughed at me back there," she admitted without feeling. "They can be quite mean sometimes. But you two...you stood up for me..." The concept seemed to puzzle her.

"Yeah, so?" Fred said.

"Why would you do such a thing?"

He thought a moment. "Well, I dunno, it didn't seem right. For them to gang up on you and all." He glanced to George for help, who nodded.

"Really, those Slytherins are gits, and we'd take any chance to knock 'em down a few notches."

"_'_Course, you helped too," Fred put in. "Your spell saved me back there."

Luna smiled modestly. "I suppose that is true."

He chuckled, unraveling the cloths bound tight on her arm. They were stained with dark blood - he winced, wondering again how the young girl had received her injury. _I swear, if they touched her…I'll murder those Slytherins… _The dark bindings fell away easily and Fred froze, staring.

The dark blemish was vivid against her pallid skin - a half-circle of fang marks gouged the outside of her arm, near her elbow. The faint reddishness of the surrounding skin suggested it had bled profusely; now the wound had turned an ugly puce, like an old bruise.

Fred's mind was numb as he forced himself to meet her eye. "Have you seen Madam Pomfrey about it?"

Maybe it was only his imagination, but he thought Luna's owlish eyes widened a little further. "N-no," she said, her voice softening with uncertainty.

"Looks nasty," George supplied, having arrived at his shoulder to get a look. His tone had lost its ironic twist - he was looking at her seriously. "Whatever did this to you, you've got to tell someone-"

Luna pulled her arm from Fred's grip with a surprising amount of strength for her fragile stature. "Thank you," she stated frostily, yanking the pile of bandages from his other hand. With a cold stiffness to her step, she rose and stalked to the opposite side of the chamber. A moment later she had settled cross-legged on the ground, back to them, wrapping the wound herself one-handed.

Fred cast his twin a hapless look. "What'd you do that for, mate? She was just warming up to us."

"Fred," George murmured, casting a wary glance in Luna's direction; he lowered his voice to a bare whisper. "Something's not right here. Those were _human_ teeth marks."

He gaped at his twin's grim expression. "All right, maybe she's not completely, well, _there_... but that's just ridiculous."

"I'm not lying - you saw it, just as well as me." George shook his head. "Whatever's going on here, I don't like it, Fred."

Fred ran a hand through his unruly red hair with a long sigh. "I don't either... But she knows something, George, and I have to find out what."

"She could be lying," George pointed out stubbornly. "Those rumors exist for a reason, you know. She's...well, loony."

Fred blew out a long sigh of irritation. "Sure, and those pureblood idiots have a point too, right?"

"Fred!" George's eyes flashed as he rounded on him, voice escalating with frustration. "Don't give me this, all right? I just want you to listen to reason for once -"

"All right," Fred growled, his long-suffering patience snapping, "since when did you become such a bloody stick in the mud? Why don't _you_ listen to _me_ for once?"

George laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "I've done nothing but listen to you, in case you haven't noticed. This whole time - when you were saying those crazy things about your dreams-! Enough is enough, Fred. You're not acting a bit like yourself!"

Fred was rigid, enduring his twin's words like merciless blows. He struggled against the wave of anger that threatened to overwhelm him. "Look," he snarled. "You haven't a _clue_ what I've gone through the past twenty-four hours, all right? I hate it as much as you do, but there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. So don't give me hell too, George."

George stepped back, looking like he'd been slapped. "Fine," he enunciated finally, with an icy calm that pierced far deeper than any dagger. "You selfish bastard."

And without another word, he swung around and marched for the portrait hole, ignoring the elf who scurried past with a tray of sandwiches and butterbeer.

Fred stood, motionless as the elf deposited the meal and squeaked something with a bow; his eyes were on his twin's back. A frosty silence hung between them.

_Fine, _Fred thought furiously, sinking down in an armchair. _I'm sorry, George, if the truth wasn't good enough for you._ He eyed the overstuffed sandwiches, but his anger had burned away his appetite; with a low groan, he rubbed at his eyes.

George's absence left him feeling rather hollow inside - like any brothers, they had their occasional qualms, but it was never anything major; and, being almost unnaturally in-tune with each other, they couldn't stay angry at each other very long. This argument had been building up for a long time; Fred could sense it. He sighed, knowing it wasn't really George's fault - but neither, he argued, could his twin blame him so viciously.

_It's the damn dreams' fault..._

He nearly jumped at an airy voice beside him.

"Your spirit energy is troubled."

Luna perched on the edge of the chair beside him, her eyes like silvery moons. She seemed quite unaffected by the fight she'd witnessed.

"My what?" Fred asked wearily, massaging his temples.

"Your spirit energy. Your aura. A magical field that surrounds a wizard, feeding off his emotions, from which he draws strength." She paused, then observed, "Yours is much larger than your brother's, but it is troubled."

"Right," said Fred distractedly. He gestured vaguely at the tray of food - "Help yourself, if you're hungry."

Luna didn't move; she surveyed him, utterly still.

"Look, if this is about what I said earlier, forget it. It was a stupid thought...you can't possibly know anything about my dreams." He sighed heavily; he was about ready to give up this fruitless quest. Nothing a few Dreamless Sleep potions couldn't fix, and yet it had turned his entire life upside down. So much so that he had somehow thought, for a fleeting instant, that Loony Lovegood of all people could help him - heck, maybe _he_ was the insane one.

Luna tilted her head. "But I do know, Frederic Weasley," she reiterated. "I saw you."

_Wait, what?_ Fred paled considerably, glancing sharply at her. His throat had gone tight.

"How?"

She straightened, dutifully reciting, "This morning, you were walking down the first floor corridor. You were muttering something about dreams... And last night, you were on the second floor, near Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

Fred's blood ran cold. No one else could see him - not even Percy. He'd been close to denying the experience as merely a dream due to the simple impossibility of it all - and yet she confirmed it in an instant. Luna smiled slightly at him.

"How could you see me?" he repeated, heart pounding.

"Any wizard who tried hard enough could sense you... Though, they would need to know what they were looking for."

Fred swallowed with difficulty. "I wasn't a ghost...but I wasn't near human either..."

"No, you were rather something in between," she surmised. "Invisible to the physical world, but solid to spirits."

Blood was pounding in his ears. He could hardly find his voice. "Exactly."

"A Shinigami."

"A _what_?"

"Shinigami. A soul reaper," she explained, eyeing him curiously. "I would have thought you would have known you were one - I knew, from the first time you touched me." She glanced thoughtfully at her hands in her lap, and Fred remembered the strange jolt he'd experienced last night when he'd helped her into the carriage.

"Okay, back up a bit." He took a deep breath. "What the heck's a Shinigami, and how come I keep turning into one when I'm asleep?"

Luna didn't answer immediately, but reached for the nearest glass of butterbeer. Her tiny smile seemed rather smug.

"I will tell you what I know, on one condition. You mustn't reveal what I share with you to anyone else...not even your brother."

Fred tensed; he hated the idea of keeping anything from his twin, who was perhaps more concerned about this than he was. However, a small part of him balked against their trust, reminding him how George had turned on him. It was spiteful, and Fred knew he'd regret it, but he agreed to Luna's terms.

"All right, but why...why are you so willing to share it with me?"

Luna smiled distantly. "No one else would believe me, I think."

Fred immediately felt bad for asking, but she wouldn't let him apologize.

"The Shinigami," she began, her gaze distant, "are an ancient branch of wizards with their origins in eastern magic. In early times, they were well known, even a subject of muggle legends. But in our time they have all but withdrawn from human activity, as their race nears extinction from dark forces."

Fred wondered, with a faint shiver, if she was talking about You-Know-Who.

"Their main purpose and duty is to stand as an intermediate between life and death. They guard newly departed souls and guide them to the Soul Society - an afterlife where both muggle and wizard souls exist."

Fred had gone cold again - the hairs on the back of his neck were on end. "Right," he said, as if that wasn't sufficiently creepy. "So you mean, like, ghosts?"

She shook her head. "No. The ghosts you see around Hogwarts are different - they have been here for countless years. They are souls who have willingly chosen to stay behind, frozen forever in our world, despite its danger. Fresh souls will retain something similar to their previous form - only after time will they begin to fade to ghosts, which are visible to the wizard eye."

At the mention of danger, Fred recalled Myrtle's odd panic last night, and Nearly Headless Nick's warning. "What kind of danger do you mean?"

"The second duty of the Shinigami," Luna continued gravely, "is to protect all souls - the departed and the living. There are two threats to the souls who linger in our world. Even now, they lurk outside the castle walls, waiting for their chance."

Fred stared at her. "The Dementors..." he breathed.

"They prey on souls, living or dead. You see now why you've been called."

"That..." Fred struggled to make sense of the numerous questions fogging his mind. "That actually makes a kind of sense... I suppose their presence brought on my dreams here, right?"

She nodded.

"But that doesn't explain why it's happened to me before loads of times," he pointed out.

"I cannot say for sure, without knowing... But if there was, perhaps, a danger nearby, or your mind was uneasy..." she shrugged. "The transformation could have been a natural reaction."

"Why does it happen only in sleep?"

She met his eye, and he knew the answer before she spoke - "The soul splits from one's body, taking on its own shape. What is left behind is nothing but a shell. It can occur when one's awake, but it must be done consciously - when the body is already at rest, the process is much easier."

"Right," Fred swallowed hard. "And I don't suppose, if one were to, well,_ die_ while in Shinigami form -"

"The person would also die," she concurred. "The body cannot exist without a soul."

_All right, this is definitely the creepiest thing I've ever heard._ Fred shook off his darker thoughts, and dove straight back into the analysis: "So, basically, I have to protect souls from Dementors."

Luna nodded.

"Okay, question. How the hell am I supposed to do that?" He grimaced, "It's bad enough being around them without passing out."

"That is when you face them as a wizard," she pointed out tactfully. "Humans are naturally weak to Dementors, who prey on their feelings of happiness. Once you have split from your body, you can wield your _zanpakuto_ against them."

"Come again?"

"_Zanpakuto_ - the weapon of the Shinigami." She blinked at him. "You do not have yours yet, do you? Well, it can only be a matter of time."

"Er -" said Fred. "Let me get this straight. I have to fight Dementors, but I don't have a weapon."

"Yet," Luna reminded him.

"Hey, what about the Patronus charm?" he recalled. George had described the technique to him - the spectral weasel their father had created to drive off a Dementor. It was the only spell capable of defending one against a Dementor (unless you were a Shinigami, it seemed), a feat well past NEWT level.

Luna regarded him with amusement. "It could be compared to the _zanpakuto_, I suppose," she allowed, "yet a weaker replacement of such, for wizards. A Patronus takes it shape depending on the personality of the caster - the _zanpakuto_ also is based on the temperament and skill of its user, and may even resemble them in a way."

"Really..." Fred's head was spinning. What Luna was telling him was beyond insane - yet, he didn't have any other rational explanation for what had happened over the last day or so. With a long sigh, he ceded.

"So what do I do now?"

"You will need training," she observed. "Your powers are as of yet untapped... only with the proper training can you become a full Shinigami. And, I believe," she smiled politely, "we should return to class."

Indeed, he had just heard the rumbling thunder of feet overhead - students were surely swarming the halls, moving on to their next classes. Luna made to rise - Fred, still partially dazed, grabbed her arm.

"There's one more thing I need to ask you."

Luna blinked.

Fred took a steadying breath, "How is it...that you know all this?"

At that, she smiled - a mysterious, foreboding look. "I suspected at the first sight of you that we would become partners, Frederic Weasley. I am the one and only other Shinigami at Hogwarts."

_To be continued..._

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Yeah, I know - I altered the concept of Bleach a little to fit better into the Harry Potter universe. ^^

Please review!


	6. Chapter 5

**Hoshi no Hikari**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter or Bleach.

Author's Note - The secret is out! :O Sorry this update took so long - I'm afraid I have a new understanding of school taking over one's life. -.-

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**Chapter 5 – When Life Pummels You with Lemons…**

Fred openly gaped at her a moment.

"You...you're a Shinigami, too?"

Luna Lovegood only smiled mysteriously.

Things were only getting stranger. Shaking his head, Fred turned away unceremoniously. "I suppose we should head back upstairs," he said with a weak laugh. The school routine seemed so far from the ethereal world he'd recently submerged himself in while conversing with her. Each movement seemed unreal as the duo rose from their seats by the fire, Fred blinking at the house elves scuttling by all around them, rapt in their own everyday business. He'd nearly forgotten he was in the midst of the ever-bustling kitchens.

Before they parted, however, he shot Luna a final request - "We'll meet up again soon, all right? I'll need help with this...soul reaper stuff."

She smiled slightly. "I doubt this would be our last encounter, Frederic."

"Erm...you can just call me Fred."

She considered this, then nodded slightly. "Then I look forward to encountering you again, Fred."

"Right...and in the meantime keep an eye out for those Slytherins, all right?" he grinned. Luna considered his remark with her eyebrows slightly furrowed, as if she didn't quite get the joke, but nodded anyway.

"Thank you for rescuing me," she concluded, and with that drifted from the room. Fred watched her go, still rather uneasy in her presence. His mind was whirling with everything she'd just told him - of the secret world of the Shinigami, the soul reapers, of the Dementors' true threat, of the secret he now had to keep...

It was enough to make him wonder if _he_ was just as crazy as she was; but nothing thus far could disprove any of it. Fred realized there was no backing out now; when he refused George's advice and listened to Luna, he'd sealed his fate.

Now he was a Shinigami, whether for better or worse he had yet to tell.

(-)

When Fred got to Transfiguration class, he was subject to Professor McGonagall's glare for his tardiness. It was rather unjust, he privately argued, as the bell had only just sounded for the beginning of class. The rest of the students were still rustling and chattering as they found their seats.

Fred passed by his typical seat between George - who stared frostily ahead - and Lee Jordan, instead opting to sit by the Gryffindor Chaser Angelina Johnson. Lee shot him a bemused look over his shoulder, then glancing to George beside him. Though he was obviously confused by the twins' silent spat, Fred had no way to explain it to him, even if he so desired.

After Professor McGonagall guided the class through the basic wand movements for turning the lumps of yarn in front of them on their desks into animate, skittering mice, she set them to work. The class was a sudden flurry of motion and chatter; Angelina used to opportunity to ask, as she hesitantly prodded her yarn, if he was feeling all right.

Fred caught himself from rolling his eyes. _Sure, I've just been declared a guardian of dead souls, my only confident is questionably sane, and my twin hates me for no reason. No really, I'm just peachy._

Reigning in his sarcasm, Fred shot her a hopefully nonchalant glance. "What d'you mean?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Honestly. You and George _never_ fight. We should be worried."

"Oh." Fred glanced in his twin's direction, who seemed perfectly content to ignore his existence. "Well, it's a long story. It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter. Right." Her voice heavy with sarcasm, Angelina turned to face him. "Seriously, Fred, it's not worth the effort to try lying to me. I've known you too long." She offered a small, comprehending smile.

Fred suddenly was very interested in poking his bundle of yarn. He jabbed it a bit too viciously and it toppled from the edge of his desk. Professor McGonagall chose that unfortunate moment to sweep by, shooting him a disapproving look over her spectacles; he grinned sheepishly as Angelina bent hastily over her own thread, muttering the spell under her breath.

As soon as she had turned her attention to the next table over, where Alicia Spinnet had conjured a mouse with a suspiciously woolly tail, Fred dove beneath the desk to retrieve the bunch of string. If he'd been hoping to divert their conversation, it failed miserably: as soon as Fred was back in sight, Angelina laid a questioning hand on his cheek.

"Are you sleeping properly?" she queried, gently tracing the dark lines beneath his eye. Fred jerked back from the contact as if she had stung him; Angelina glanced at him in alarm.

"I – I'm fine," he caught himself hastily, color rushing to his face.

Angelina knew she was fighting a losing battle; she resorted to staring at him earnestly, spell work forgotten, while he skittishly evaded eye contact. "Fred," she murmured at long last, "if…something happens, you know you can talk to me, right?" Her hand found his beneath the table, and she squeezed it slightly.

Unable to meet her eye, Fred mumbled, "Yeah…"

They had been going out, off and on, since the end of third year; but no matter their sometimes-relationship, they were steadfast friends, ever since their first year. He wouldn't forget his and George's prank on the first year girls during their first weeks of school – or the hell she'd given them after they'd "accidentally" dyed her dark hair an interesting shade of pink. Somehow, a lasting friendship had sprung from it.

Fred knew he trusted her – and it was painful to push away the support she offered, when he wanted nothing more than to laugh off his secrets with her. But there was nothing laughable about his second life as a Shinigami – and even if he was permitted to tell her, he wondered in a sudden icy fear if the revelation would only drive her away from him. If George, who knew him better than anyone, thought he was insane, what would stop her from reacting in the same way?

The need to protect this one friendship restored his determination, and with effort he forced aside his preoccupations for now. Surfacing with a smile, he squeezed her hand back.

"Of course I'd tell you if something did."

The lie left a bad taste in his mouth, but at least it opened the door to normal conversation. They lost themselves bantering about the upcoming Quidditch season – Angelina was confident in Gryffindor's prospects this year, seeing as their team, lead by seventh year Oliver Wood, was at its prime.

"We've beaten the Slytherins even with their new Nimbuses," she said fervently. "And Hufflepuff's got a good Seeker, but we've got Potter. Ravenclaw's nothing special this year either – a couple of their good Chasers graduated last year, we'll see what they do about that."

Fred nodded agreement. "So long as we can ward off injuries this year, we're set." Two years ago, they'd had to forfeit their last match – and the Cup – due to their Seeker being in the hospital wing.

"And no one unleashes any more monsters on the school," Angelina smiled back, reminiscing the Basilisk attacks, which had cancelled last year's season.

Fred's smirk wavered as he reflected, uncomfortably, that she had brushed dangerously close to the truth – he was grateful when she changed the topic.

"So, you missed McGonagall's spiel on OWLs."

"Ah, almost forgot it's OWL year."

Angelina rolled her eyes at him. "You wouldn't have if you'd decided the classes this morning were important enough to actually _attend._"

"And were they?" he inquired innocently.

She stifled a grin with difficulty. "Quite repetitive, actually. Everyone's vehement on telling us how important the exams are, you know, in deciding the rest of our lives."

"Hmm," said Fred, feigning interest in his yarn again as Professor McGonagall moved by to check on them in a swish of emerald cloak.

"Let's see some effort this year, Weasley," she reproached him, frowning at the lack of progress the two of them had made in their spell work. In his defense, Fred pointed out that his ball of yarn now sported a twitching mouse tail; Professor McGonagall didn't seem too impressed. "I had hoped the separation would have encouraged you to focus more thoroughly. Even your brother has successfully transfigured his mouse already."

Fred's ears turned red as she turned away; she didn't notice the sudden glower he shot at his twin's back. That was low, even for George… Trying to make him look bad…

He probed the yarn with sudden fervor, and by the end of class had succeeded in turning it into a vague gray mound, its tail flopping helplessly. When the bell rang, he was all too glad; standing, he shouldered his bag and made for the exit before Angelina or anyone else could catch up with him.

His last class of the day was Professor Binn's History of Magic, which was like a guaranteed free period. When Fred reached the classroom, Lee and George were already there; he ensured to sit on Lee's opposite side so that he didn't have to face his twin. He'd lingered long enough on the way over so that, the moment he sat down, Professor Binns's ghostly form floated through the front blackboard, and a hush fell over the students' amiable conversations.

From the corner of his eye, Fred caught Lee's hapless look, knowing he'd been hoping to talk with him. He strived to ignore him, hoping he would take the hint, instead allowing his mind to wander as the ghostly professor lectured on in his monotone.

But as lulling as Binns's boring voice was, Fred jolted wide awake with a horrid thought: if he did fall asleep, what was stopping him from undergoing his Shinigami transformation in the midst of the classroom? Even if no one saw him, they'd still get a shock from his soulless body left behind – and he couldn't rely for certain on George to divert attention from him. Even then, Binns was oblivious, but he was still a ghost… Fred wondered idly what the professor would make of his Shinigami form.

His thoughts received a welcome diversion as a folded slip of parchment landed on his desk. To his left, Lee was staring at him meaningfully; with a sigh Fred straightened from where he'd slouched, head supported on one hand, and unfolded the torn paper. Lee's scrawled script met him:

_What's up with you guys?_

_George won't talk to me either._

Fred stared a long moment at the parchment, running several possible responses through his mind. There was no way to explain what had brought on their feud without revealing an uncomfortable lot about his dreams and soul reapers. Instead Fred reached into his bag for a rather rumpled quill.

He scratched a quick, _Sorry, mate. Personal stuff._ It was a pathetic way to weasel around the question, but he tossed it back to Lee anyway. His friend read the short note with a grimace, and proceeded to fold the page into a lopsided crane.

_No hard feelings, mate. _Fred couldn't help but smirk at him at that, and withdrew a page torn from his Potions notebook to occupy himself.

He spent the remainder of class idly doodling as a retelling of the vampire rebellions of the late 1800s went in one ear and out the other. He could care less about the efforts of an Edward McCullen to create a peace treaty between the ancient Ministry and the vampire clans (in the end, the bloke succumbed to a venomous vampire bite before the bill passed).

When the all-too-welcome bell indicating the end of classes sounded, Fred crumpled his page of work and tossed it in the nearest trash bin. He had come to notice in the last few minutes he'd been sketching what seemed suspiciously like a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

In the break before dinner, he went and broke a Weasley twin unspoken rule.

The smell of musty parchment greeted him as he pushed open the broad oak doors to the library; several students were already milling between the tall shelves of books, grouped at tables with their homework spread out in front of them, or curled in nooks with heavy leather-bound books open in their laps.

As he wandered into the chamber, marveling at how unbelievably vast it was, he noted absently the stares he was getting from people who knew his notoriety. Madam Pince glanced up from her desk at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

He ignored the hushed whispers in his wake and walked among the high shelves, peering at the dusty lettering on the volumes he passed. _Basic Household Charms… A Guide to Common Pests…_ He was obviously in the wrong section; Fred frowned at the books, brow furrowed.

"Can I help you?"

Madam Pince, probably concerned over why the school's nefarious troublemaker was in her precious library, approached him, adjusting her owlish spectacles. Fred turned to her.

"Um, yes, actually…" He thought quickly for a suitable phrase that wouldn't make him sound like a raving madman. "Er, you wouldn't happen to have anything on…souls, would you?"

She pursed her lips. "For which class, Mr. Weasley?"

"It's actually more of a, er, personal project."

Her eyes narrowed distrustfully, but she said after a moment, "There are, but in the restricted section. You would need a signed note from a professor, Mr. Weasley. Tampering with souls is a delicate, and quite often fatal, branch of magic."

"Er – right." That threw a wrench in his plans. "Thanks anyway."

He turned to leave and collided head-on with a walking pile of books. From beneath the heavy volumes came a small squeak as they both toppled back. Books scattered everywhere – _The Beginner's Guide to Arithmancy_ bounced painfully off his head.

"Oww," Fred groaned faintly, massaging his scalp. A soft voice echoed him; glancing over, he saw third year Hermione Granger hastily gathering her spilled collection.

"Blimey, Granger," he said, picking up the Arithmancy book. "What d'you need all this for?"

She huffed faintly, brushing her bushy hair from her eyes. "Classes, of course. Some of us do _try_ in school, you know."

Fred shook his head in amazement, collecting _Divination: the Sacred Art_ and _The Secret Live of Muggles._ "There's no way you can be taking all these classes at once. You must be a bloody genius or something."

Hermione said nothing to that, a faint blush painting her cheeks. Fred handed her the remaining stack of books – "Here. You want help carrying them out?"

"No, but thank you." She eyed the books in his hands warily, as if he might have booby-trapped them while she wasn't looking. Fred burst out laughing at her expression – earning a warning glare from the librarian.

He subdued his sniggers with difficulty, and shifting the books under his arm helped the younger girl to her feet. "It's no problem," he added as Hermione opened her mouth to protest. "C'mon."

Holding her half of the stack protectively in front of her, she shadowed him from the library. They walked the long stairways up to Gryffindor Tower in moderate silence.

"So, how's first day of classes?" he inquired as the staircase beneath them shuddered to life.

Hermione bit her lip, then burst out suddenly, "Malfoy's a git."

Fred cast her a surprised glance, one eyebrow cocked. "That's pretty harsh coming from you. It's not becoming of a lady to talk like that, you know?"

"Stop it," she muttered, blushing again. "It's just – he set up Hagrid in his first class, provoking a Hippogriff to attack him." The confiding words came out in an unexpected rush; she looked close to tears. "It was just so horrid of him! And – and now they're probably going to sack him –!"

"Hey," Fred said in alarm. "I'm sure it's not that bad, 'Mione."

He stopped short as she shot him a sudden, startled glance. "What?"

"What did you call me?"

"Er – 'Mione?" Fred repeated, confused.

Hermione walked on for a moment, distracted. "It's just…no one's called me that before."

"Oh. Sorry…"

"No, it's… It's just kind of weird, talking to you when there's only one of you," she confessed with an embarrassed smile.

"Hey, George and I are different people," he pointed out defensively. "We might act alike a lot of the time, sure, but we're still different." _More so than you could know._

"I'm sorry, but I don't even know which twin you are right now," she laughed weakly.

"I'm Fred," he supplied helpfully.

"Oh."

They walked on for silence in a moment; then Hermione turned to him in sudden thought. "What were you doing in the library?"

Fred laughed. "Geez, you make it sound like a crime or something."

"For you, it is," she shot back.

"…Point taken. As it is, I was actually looking for a book."

"Oh, really?" Hermione sounded amused.

"Yeah. Something on human souls, and, er, eastern magic practices. It's for," he improvised rapidly, "a Divination assignment."

"Should I be worried or pleased that you're doing your homework?"

"How much has Ronnikins told you about us?" Fred asked, aghast.

"I didn't hear anything from him," she said smugly. "Your reputation precedes you."

"I'm honored, then."

"That wasn't supposed to be a – forget it. You know what," Hermione said, "I'll see what I can find for you."

"_'_Mione…" he gaped at her. "…you're amazing. Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said, her cheeks rather pink.

They had reached the pink lady's portrait, and he bid her goodbye (and good luck on all those courses) with a mock bow. Then, stomach growling, he headed downstairs.

He made for the Great Hall rather early – having skived off lunch, he was starving, and he was hoping to eat quickly enough to avoid the others. The less he saw of them, the easier it was to keep the secret notions whirling in his mind from tumbling out.

He lucked out: a quick scan of the hall revealed none of his fifth year fellows had arrived yet, and the four long tables were nearly deserted. He picked a spot far from the doors, his mind at ease for a while with the researching duty placed on Hermione instead.

He was halfway through his first dinner alone when an unwelcome interruption drifted up through the table in front of him. The familiar round, transparent face of Moaning Myrtle appeared in front of him, her grin stretched wide in triumph.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," she cackled merrily.

Fred, who was more than slightly disturbed by her rare appearance in the hall, and her apparent intention to stalk him, only looked on in dismay as she passed through his steak-and-kidney pie. "I was going to eat that," he remarked balefully.

That did the trick: she drew back as if the insult had slapped her. "At – at least you _can _eat!" she burst out, eyes filling with tears.

Fred felt a dark sort of satisfaction. So long as he wasn't in Shinigami form, there wasn't a thing she could do to him, much less drag him down the hall again. "I have enough to worry about without you following me. Why don't you go bug someone who's dead, yeah?"

Angry tears spilled from under her glasses. "I can't believe you!" she hissed, fists clenched. "I liked you much better as a ghost!"

And with that last retort she zoomed out of the hall, leaving an eerie wail in her wake and turning several heads. Fred ignored the stares, as he was becoming accustomed to doing, and resumed eating his cold pie.

That evening, a wintry silence reigned in the Gryffindor fifth year dormitory. George still refused to speak – or even look at him - as the subdued boys changed for bed. Fred was perfectly fine with that – he wasn't eager to talk to him, either, settling for yanking the covers over his head and turning to face the wall.

Only Lee dared break the silence, his quiet "_'_Night," echoing around the chamber as the lights dimmed. However, his mind whirling, Fred lay awake a long time in the dark: his anxiety more than partially stemmed from the approaching dreams he dreaded.

Inevitably, however, he drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the soft snores of his companions.

_To be continued..._

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A/N: I think I've been writing too much Fred/Hermione. :D Well, at least there's several ways this could go now... (and why's George not getting any of the female attention, huh?)

Anyway... Please review!


	7. Chapter 6

**Hoshi no Hikari**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter or Bleach.

Author's Note - So, I finally figured out how to put this in the crossover section. :D And I've been on this site how long again...?

On an unrelated note: expect updates to slow for all my fics come next week - NaNoWriMo's starting, and this'll be my first year participating...woo!

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**Chapter 6 – Snape Ruins Another Lovely Day**

Fred Weasley was in a bad mood.

What had precipitated it was his dreams – of lack of them, to be more specific. After all the stress it had caused him yesterday, it was almost anticlimactic considering the dreamless sleep he'd had last night. It had, at least, brought some refreshment to his tired body, even as his mind prickled with irritation. If he had to be alienated from his twin, he wanted there to be a damn good reason for it – as it was, the way George evaded eye contact and remained stonily cold through breakfast only irked him.

He wanted to scream.

The storm cloud surrounding their motley group at the Gryffindor table weighed him down, and truth to be told, he didn't have the patience to tolerate it. The surrounding students gave them a good berth, eyeing them warily – the change in mood had to be somewhat alarming, when the fifth years' boisterous laughter usually fueled the table's good cheer.

Beside him, he distantly heard Alicia murmur something about Potions homework to Angelina. They were all hushed around the sullen twins; across from him, Lee kept shooting him glances over his open Transfiguration textbook. It was like they tread on broken glass around them, uncertain of what to do, knowing a misstep could set off an abrupt tirade.

It was so stupid. Fred had a half desire to reach across the table and slap George, telling him to snap out of it. And hit himself, for good measure, for letting things escalate this far. Sure, his dreams were on the whack – and Fred couldn't help cling to the faint hope that, maybe, his talk with Luna Lovegood yesterday had put a permanent end to them. Yet, that was nothing for them to fight about, was it?

He glanced down to see Angelina spearing sausages onto his plate. "You've got to eat something, Fred," she said brusquely.

"Not hungry," he muttered vaguely.

Across the table, George shot him a red-eyed glare. That was the last straw.

Standing, he viciously swung his bag onto his shoulder, gritting his teeth. The dead silence was just far too insupportable. _Fine,_ he reflected darkly, _George wants to be like this?_

…Well, he didn't give a damn anymore.

He turned on his heel when Katie Bell piped up nervously behind him.

"Where're you going?"

He paused, considering, and concluded with a flat, "Anywhere else." Leaving them silently staring after him, he marched out of the hall.

His footsteps led him to the library, where he walked among the deserted shelves unheeded. There was a silence in here too, early-morning sunlight filtering through the high windows and glinting in floating dust motes. However, he found the peace soothing somehow – anything was better than staring into his twin's face right now.

He had a better idea of what he was searching for this time, and found it after a few minutes browsing the shelves. In a far corner of the library was a section labeled 'Foreign Studies'; on tiptoe he peered at the top shelf, running a finger along the dusty spines.

"Ah," he murmured to himself, "here were are."

He pulled out an armful of books – among them, _Ancient Eastern Arts_ and _The Orient: Culture, Religion, and Magic._ Half-grinning at how bizarre he must look, a Weasley twin toting several thick tomes under his arm, he settled at a far table and spread out his findings. Opening a likely book, _Ways of the Eastern Warrior,_ he flipped curiously through the introduction.

_In ancient times, oriental wizard society adopted a very different approach to magic than their medieval occidental relations. In fact, it was not until the mid-1900s that the two branches of magic began to merge into the global network of wizardry known to most today. Even so, a healthy influence of their ancestors' ways lives on in the practices of the modern eastern wizard…_

Fred's eyes began to blur, and he scanned forward to the first chapter that caught his eye: _A Wandless Approach to Magic._

A few minutes of reading divulged some fascinating facts. For one thing, ancient eastern wizardry hadn't come upon a wand for centuries – instead, witches and wizards relied on complex hand signals and incantations to channel their magic, a technique the book referred to as _ninjutsu._ Secondly, the foundation of magic had strong roots in cultural legends and religious beliefs. Here his excitement grew, but the book stopped short of mentioning anything similar to Shinigami.

Disappointed, he tried searching the index, but there was no help there either; after quickly scanning the other books, too, he had to give up hope. Not one of these guides referenced the Shinigami, wizards whose existence hinged somewhere between the physical and the spectral.

His research wasn't entirely fruitless, however, as he established more of a basis for the eastern art Luna had described to him. In the past, eastern wizards chose not only to wield magic, which was seen not as a weapon itself, but more of a spiritual bond with the natural world, something they strived to deepen through the practice of meditation. In addition to their wandless magic, the wizards chose to develop numerous physical techniques and almost always specialized in at least one type of Muggle weapon. These could be imbued with the user's magic to strengthen them far beyond the capacity of normal weapons.

This section reminded Fred of something Luna mentioned – the _zanpakuto,_ the weapon of the soul reaper, which adapted to the user's strengths and personality. He made note of a few things the book mentioned to later ask her about – then, as the bell rang for the first class of the day, he stowed away the books and hurried from the library.

It now hit him that he, having slept through most of yesterday morning, had little idea what his schedule was; he had assumed George had picked one up for him, but seeing as his twin currently wasn't speaking to him, it didn't help much. He lucked out in spotting Angelina in the hallway, who had the same classes as him. She shook her head in exasperation when he explained his dilemma – but nevertheless kindly offered to make a copy for him as they entered Charms class.

The day passed in a relative blur; Fred had renewed his determination to find out what, exactly, was going on in his dreams, and had sneaked one of the more helpful (and less bulky) guides from the library. He'd decided to test some of the practices listed in case they proved useful. As he read further over the lunch hour, creeping into the kitchens to do so, he noted meditation exercises looked to be a likely start. As the book hinted, they were the key to strengthening one's aptitude for wandless magic.

His day was going moderately well until Professor Snape cornered him in the midst of Potion class. He had been anxiously leaning over a Draught of Peace with Alicia Spinnet, which bubbled a murky green far from the expected shimmering silver. Then the black vulture swept over to their table, leering down at them over his hooked nose.

"Mr. Weasley." Snape's eyes narrowed; his lips hardly seemed to move as he went on silkily, "I have heard word you've taken to attacking my students whenever the urge strikes you."

Fred glanced up into the sallow face of the Head of Slytherin house, his stomach churning with sudden illness.

"I don't know what you mean, sir," he said with forced politeness. Two rows behind him, George had stopped suddenly short preparing powdered moonstone; in the haze from the potion fumes, his face had gone oddly pale, a long bandage still visible beneath his left eye.

"Detention is in order, I believe," Snape continued, his beady eyes flickering in George's direction. "Both of you. I have noticed you have also deemed your attendance in this class…beneath you…"

Fred said nothing. His knuckles had gone white as he fought back an irate retort.

"I will see you both in my office tonight. The dungeon floors are looking darker than usual…it should take a good week to clean them." With that ominous warning he stalked away to the sniggering Slytherin side of the chamber.

"Damn him," Fred uttered under his breath, shooting a murderous glance at Snape as he added some syrup of hellebore to the bubbling concoction. Alicia let out a small squeak as the potion began to hiss and turned an angry black.

Fred honestly didn't care enough to even try fixing it, and when Snape passed by again, a lazy flick of his wand caused the muddled potion to evaporate. "Those of you who have produced even slightly satisfactory results," he sneered, "should hand in their labeled vials at the front."

There was a flurry of motion to do as told; Fred sat back, fuming, Alicia casting him anxious glances.

_When I'm a Shinigami, you'll regret this,_ Fred thought maliciously, entertaining the thought. _I'll haunt your sorry ass…_

(-)

That evening, Fred did his best to avoid the others again. As the fifth years gathered in the common room to work out some particularly nasty Potion exercises, he headed, alone, to their silent dormitory. He pulled _Ways of the Eastern Warrior_ from his bag and opened it to the page he'd dog-eared: _A Simple Exercise in Meditation._

He did as the book suggested and sat back, eyes closed, attempting to relax his tensed muscles. _Do not search out the magic, _the words drifted through his mind, _let it come to you._

Wind whistled faintly against the tall window, its heavy curtains partially closed; the room around him was dark and still, a jumble of supplies strewn around his four-poster bed. The covers beneath him were soft and inviting, and he had to fight off the drowsiness accompanying his mind's complacency.

_Let it come to you._

The door burst open, allowing a sudden stream of light. Fred glanced up suddenly, surprised to see his twin staring back at him. By his wide-eyed stare, he hadn't been expecting to find him, either.

"What are you doing up here?" George blurted before he remembered his sworn silence.

Fred bit back an angry retort. "That's none of your business."

"Whatever." George turned away, only pausing long enough to add, "Snape's office in ten minutes. Don't think of ditching – you _did_ start it."

He marched out, slamming the door behind him. Fred tried to shut out a wave of fury, struggling to remember the meditation drill. But his mind was far too restless, and so a few minutes later he slid off the bed with a heavy sigh. He donned an extra layer beneath his cloak, knowing all too well the chill of the lower levels of the school at night; then he headed downstairs to face his fate.

(-)

Professor Snape's office was just as George remembered it – the black door was squeezed between an empty classroom and a supply closet. Shortly after he arrived, Fred did as well; they exchanged glances without speaking, Fred clenching his jaw defiantly.

They both raised their hands to knock at the same time; the twins froze, exchanging dirty looks over the door. A voice drifted over from inside.

"Enter."

George grimaced; steeling himself, he shoved the door open and marched inside, head held high. His twin was only a step behind him.

The sallow-skinned professor sat behind a worn dark desk; he did not regard them, his focus on a stack of parchment he was marking. As he watched, George saw him viciously scratch a spiky 'F' on the next sheaf, tossing it aside.

Since Snape had no current interest in him, he glanced around the room, bored. A knot of unease had formed in his stomach, and the inaction was making it worse; he shifted absently from foot to foot, hoping to distract himself in staring at the numerous unfortunate creatures and parts drifting in labeled jars on shelves around him. The dungeons were naturally cold, but there was a definite chill in the office; there was something eerie about being in here, something he and Fred had previously joked about stemming from Snape's being part-vampire.

The notion was a bit more frightening when his twin wasn't impersonating a vampire's hiss behind Snape's back.

At that thought, he glanced at Fred; but his twin was regarding Snape with an ugly glare. Eventually the Potions master laid aside his quill and faced them. His lower lip curled with dislike; he ignored Fred's persistent stare.

"Those floors will not clean themselves, Weasleys. You know where the cleaning supplies are. No magic. I want to see my reflection in the east wing floors before you leave tonight. Dismissed." With that he returned his attention to his marking.

Fred turned on his heel and stalked from the room, George on his heels. His heart sank – the east wing of the dungeons ran almost the length of the school. _It'll take all night to clean that without magic…_

They retrieved buckets and sponges from the supply closet and set to work on hands and knees. It was a grueling task – only after a few minutes crouched on cold stone George's knees began to ache protest. His hands were cold and numb from the atmosphere and the icy water he used to scrub at the stone tiles. Darkness hung all around them – all sense of time was lost as they slaved on in silence.

Eventually George became aware of Snape's reappearance; the Potions master regarded their efforts with a frown, but dismissed them with the order to return tomorrow at the same time. It was with relief that the Weasley twins left the dungeons behind, their only thought the warm beds that awaited them above.

George stretched his sore fingers as they ascended the darkened staircases. It had to be past midnight, he reckoned, as the castle lay in quiet slumber all around them. Even the portraits were dozing in their frames – from experience they tiptoed past them, knowing the paintings' occupants tended to be grumpy when awakened. They also had a tendency to spread unwelcome secrets around the school when spited…

George shivered faintly, stowing his numbed hands in his pockets. He couldn't think of anything better than a draught of warm butterbeer from the kitchens right now; but he doubted Fred was in any mood to agree with him at the moment, and so remained in silent contemplation. At long last they reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, and slipped upstairs to bed without a word passed between them.

(-)

Three nights had passed without an indication of his recurring dreams. Normally this wouldn't have phased him, but rather reassured him that life was returning to normal; but after all that had happened, it only served to deepen his anxiety. Would he have to wait until the Dementors made a move?

In the place of dreams, Fred found himself hardly able to sleep at all. After a few restless hours tossing and turning, he grew fed up. Instead he quietly paced to the window, where seated on the deep ledge he leaned his brow against the cool glass and strived to focus on his meditation exercises. Clearing his thoughts at least served to pacify him somewhat, though he made no more progress than last time. His mind tended to wander whenever he'd gotten very far; and, his concentration thus disrupted, he had to strive to clear his mind all over again.

Monday morning dawned bright and early. Fred was about out of his mind with exhaustion when he stumbled after Lee Jordan into the Great Hall. The smell of warm breakfast rolled over him, tantalizing, but he couldn't bring himself to be hungry. Lee, however, had noticed his best friend's strange temperament these last few days, and was determined to see him eat something for once.

Fred had only sat down at the Gryffindor table, Lee promptly loading his plate with toast and scrambled eggs, when he caught sight of a familiar figure at the next table. Luna Lovegood had a wide berth between her and her nearest Ravenclaw housemates; she didn't seem to notice, quietly nibbling at a roll. She'd tied back her pale blond hair today, and garish red turnips hung from her earlobes. Her wand was tucked absently behind her right ear.

Lee waved a hand in front of his face; Fred, distracted, blinked at him. "Sorry," he muttered, and without further explanation rose from the table. He strode purposefully over to Ravenclaw table, ignoring the strange looks he got as he plunked down on the bench beside Luna. Lee was staring after him, brow furrowed.

"Oi, Lovegood." He disregarded her wide-eyed stare and dove straight to the point. "We need to straighten a few things out."

She said nothing, and he pressed on, "I've been trying to work on – the thing we discussed – but it hasn't come back. How exactly -?"

A pair of Ravenclaw fourth years nearby were whispering and giggling at them. Fred shot them an irritated glare; he nearly missed Luna's soft reply.

"It would be best to take this somewhere weaker minds won't overhear." Her chin jutted slightly, defiantly. The Ravenclaws fell silent.

When Luna swept from the hall a moment later, he hurried to follow her – first nicking some toast from the blue-and-gold table, which he munched on as he walked. Once outside in the considerably quieter hallways, Luna led the way to a first-floor classroom Fred knew to be abandoned. He entered after her, pushing the creaking door shut behind him with his foot.

The chamber wasn't terribly large – but desks were piled upon one another and partially pushed to the sides of the room, creating a space at its center. Heavy curtains covered the window at the far wall; when he pushed them open, he inadvertently sent up a cloud of dust. Coughing, he turned back onto the lighted chamber.

Luna had settled on the edge of a free desk, her legs folded delicately. "You said you haven't been dreaming lately," she remarked. "You must not have been sleeping, either."

Fred rubbed his noticeably reddened eyes irritably. "This has nothing to do about my sleep pattern. How am I supposed to learn to be a Shinigami when I can't even turn into one?"

He hadn't meant his outburst to be so angry, but pent-up frustration made his voice escalate and echo around him. He stopped then, heart pounding; he was glad the halls outside were deserted. Luna blinked coolly, unaffected.

"Sorry," he muttered, not having meant to yell at her.

"You still have a lot to learn," she murmured. "I can teach you what I can, if you'd like… But it will take time, and it will only be worth the effort if you are entirely convinced to take this path."

Her words made his mind race. There was no turning back now – he knew that already. But he had no choice; clenching his fists, he uttered, "I'm sure."

"Very well." She slipped off the desk and moved toward him, retrieving her wand from behind her ear. For a brief instant, he wondered if she was about to curse him; but then he realized she was pointing the handle of the black wand at him, the base of which had been carved into a skull.

"Show yourself, Fred Weasley."

With that she jabbed the skull's tip to his forehead; Fred let out a strangled gasp as a sudden chill engulfed him, and he was falling backward into darkness…

The next thing he knew, he was staring down at his limp body lying on the floor. Struggling to control his racing heartbeat, he glanced sideways to Luna, who gave him a faint, smug smile.

"So you are a Shinigami after all."

_To be continued..._

* * *

Please review!


	8. Chapter 7

**Hoshi no Hikari**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter or Bleach.

Author's Note - Yeah, well, this took a little longer than expected. -.- Sorry about that, guys.

* * *

**Chapter 7 – It's Nothing Personal, Really…**

"That – that had to be dangerous!" Fred accused her as soon as he found his voice.

Luna shrugged, slipping her wand back behind her ear. "I suppose so. If you had been a normal human, removing your soul would have likely killed you."

Her nonchalant gaze was more than a little disconcerting. "Warn me next time before you do that, yeah?" he grumped, rubbing his head. When she only stared at him, he sighed heavily and glanced down at himself. His body felt the same – he tried clenching and unclenching his fists, finding himself to feel reassuringly solid. However, he was quite certain that if someone walked in now, they would see Luna appearing to be talking to herself.

He wondered again if she was really as crazy as everyone seemed to think. Maybe by this point, she only appeared normal in comparison to his _own_ growing insanity. He would have laughed, if his stomach wasn't rolling over right now.

"Hey," he noted suddenly, "my Hogwarts robes…"

Fred didn't know how he'd neglected to realize it before. What had been his school uniform had transformed – what he now wore was a silky black kimono with a white sash at the waist, similar to something he'd seen pictures of eastern wizards wearing. He sported white sandals as well.

"That is the Shinigami uniform," Luna stated matter-of-factly. Glancing over at her, he realized she'd taken the liberty of dragging his corporeal self behind a desk, out of immediate sight of anyone who happened to look in on them. He grimaced.

"You know, the whole soul-leaving-the-body thing really puts a creepy twist on this."

She chose to ignore that comment. "You are a Shinigami now, Fred Weasley. You will soon find your abilities and stamina are much enhanced from when you were contained in physical form. However, limits still apply." She eyed him thoughtfully.

"A Shinigami's unique strengths are their extra speed and strength as well as skill with a _zanpakuto_. Finally, you will find your wand-based magic will not work in this form. Shinigami rely on a separate branch of magic, called kido."

"I was trying to find something on it in the library," he explained. "There was something about ninjutsu –"

"Not quite. Kido is spellcasting directed only with the spoken word – incantations. It is similar, however, in that it requires immense inner focus to execute properly."

"Let me guess, meditation."

She smiled at him. "You have done your research."

"Earlier," Fred said, "you mentioned something about training –"

"You're not quite ready for Shinigami training yet," she said distantly. "In the meantime, start to practice meditation. I will also make a list of spells you should memorize."

"Wait," he said, a bit put out by how quickly she dismissed him, "why aren't I ready?"

Luna blinked, "Well, your _zanpakuto_ has not chosen you yet, has it?"

"Well, no, but what does that have to do with anything?" he growled.

"You cannot be a Shinigami without one. It is the first indication of the nature of your abilities – if it hasn't chosen to show itself yet, then your abilities aren't fully awakened yet, are they?"

"What am I supposed to do, wait around until a sword shows up?" The stress of the last few days had pushed his patience to its limit. As Luna remained silent, he growled, "Look, the Dementors are right outside the castle – I don't have time to waste."

She shook her head slightly. "They will not move for a while yet. They know not yet of our presence."

"Listen, Luna," he sighed, "I don't have time to mess around, all right? I haven't slept right since we got to Hogwarts, and my life's not exactly peachy either right now. The only way...the only way I can at least try to fix it is if I figure this out. Can you understand that?"

She closed her eyes regretfully. "You are not ready…" She let out a breathy sigh. "If you must, then strike me."

"Er, what?"

"Attack me," she repeated. "If you can, then I will train you."

"Er…all right." He regarded her in confusion; she perched cross-legged on the edge of the desk, unmoving, her wand still stuck behind her right ear. _She has no way to fight back…_ He shook his head, arousing his determination. _All right, I just have to do this!_

Squaring his shoulders, he circled nearer, keeping a wary eye on her wand. She made no move for it; her utter stillness was more than a little unnerving, and it spurred him into motion. With a yell he lunged suddenly, fist pulled back, aiming for her side.

_I won't hit her hard – just enough to score a hit –!_

He didn't get a chance to execute his plan. As soon as he swung down toward her, Luna's eyes flickered open; fast as flashing lightning she disappeared. His punch met only air – gaping in shock, he saw her at the corner of his eye, behind him. _She's so fast -! _As if in slow motion he turned.

Luna's hand glanced sharply off the back of his neck; the blow was enough to send him reeling, and as he fell he heard her murmur behind him, "This was the only way. I'm sorry."

Then the ground rushed up at him, and he succumbed to darkness.

* * *

Professor Trelawney's classroom lay at the top of one of Hogwarts' many spiraling towers. The stuffy room was crowded with small plush stools and chairs in various states of dilapidation; the fifth year class now settled among them, shifting anxiously. A heavy cloud of perfume and incense hung in the air; George's eyes watered as he scanned the gloomy chamber.

Fred wasn't there.

Of course, he corrected himself, it wasn't like he was worried or anything. Fred could skip class all he wanted; at this point he didn't really care. He wasn't sure why he was here either, he reflected, glancing around the tiny table he currently shared with Lee Jordan and Alicia Spinnet. He was only taking Divination to fill up his schedule – and even though the class was obviously a hoax, he and Fred found it rather amusing to mess with their professor's mind. Since third year they had gleefully predicted each others' demises in increasingly bizarre fashions every time she asked the class to practice their skills.

Well, since neither he nor Fred felt much like laughing right now, or even addressing each other, the class presented only an hour and a half of boredom.

At that moment their teacher, bundled in layers of shawls and adjusting her large, bug-like spectacles, appeared from behind a curtain. "Good morning, my dears," she whispered, sweeping into their midst. By now the fifth years were used to her unusual appearance, and merely blinked. Lee yawned widely.

"Welcome back for another year of the delicate study of the future," she murmured. "Of course, I foresaw your continuation in this course –" Lee barely stifled a snort, and George offered a half-smile at his not-so-discreet attempt to lift the mood "- and I sense great things yet to come from some of you."

"And I sense someone's off her meds again," Lee imitated in a whisper. Alicia lightly punched him beneath the table.

"Quiet, you!"

Professor Trelawney went on obliviously. "Now, we will begin this year with a look back at what we finished last year. Yes, I do believe we should start with palmistry." She approached a Hufflepuff in the front row, whose expression paled in petrification as she ran a long bony finger over his palm. "Hmm… This upward curve here shows good luck in your future…"

She dropped his hand to face the class, the Hufflepuff looking rather relieved. "Now, pair up and open your books to page 144 to assist you."

There was a scuffle of motion as people bent to retrieve battered copies of _Unfogging the Future_. Lee and George bent over Alicia's book, neither having bothered to bring their own. She cast them a hapless look.

"Really, you guys? I thought we were through with this last year…"

"Think I burned mine," said George apologetically. "Gets really cold in the winter here, you know?" He and Lee exchanged high-fives as Alicia rolled her eyes.

"Fine – I get to read yours first." Before he could protest, Alicia grabbed George's right hand and flipped it over. "Hmm," she imitated Trelawney's nasal sound, tracing her fingers along his lifeline. "I'm so sorry, Weasley. It looks like… you're going to be beaten up by someone you thought was your friend."

"Aw, come off it," George said mock-crossly as Alicia giggled. Shaking his head, he made a grab for her hand when Lee elbowed him suddenly in the side.

"Look who it is," he hissed.

George turned. A familiar redhead had just slipped through the trap door entrance, now tiptoeing quickly toward Angelina Johnson's table. George said nothing, turning away; his good humor had suddenly evaporated. Lee continued to watch Fred with a frown – though he didn't glance their way, he was rubbing slightly at the back of his neck and grimacing. Angelina whispered something to him, but he shook his head.

"He's been acting strangely lately, hasn't he?" Alicia murmured from George's other side.

He made a noise of discontent. "Don't remind me."

"But, seriously…" Lee dropped his voice, turning back to the two anxiously. "I dunno what's up between the two of you, but he was talking to Loony Lovegood at breakfast."

George's blood ran cold.

"Loony?" Alicia asked in fascination. "You mean that Ravenclaw second year everyone's always talking about?"

"Yeah, that one. She's loopy, she is." Lee shook his head. "George, don't you think you should –"

"No." Coldly he stared at the open page of Alicia's textbook, littered with diagrams of the fine lines of peoples' palms. The other two were watching him, hesitant; he refused to meet their eye. What happened between him and Fred had nothing to do with them… It twisted his stomach just to think of it, of the way Fred could just toss aside his entire life for the sake of some eerie dreams. He shook his head to clear a sudden cold that had seeped in, and raised his head.

"George," Alicia said cautiously, "this isn't because of…well…" She shifted uncomfortably.

"Because of what?" he snapped.

"…Well, Angelina…"

George stared at her a moment blankly. Alicia bit her lip, then elaborated, "Well, you're not jealous, are you? That they're going out?"

His face turned an interesting shade of red. "No, I am not jealous," he declared, so loudly that a table of Slytherins nearby sniggered. He glared in their direction, continuing in a bit more restrained a tone, "That's about the farthest thing from my mind, Alicia."

"…Oh." She lowered her eyes. She looked so embarrassed, George reached out to reassure her.

"Listen, what's between me and Fred –"

Motion across the room distracted him; Professor Trelawney, bat-like in her lengthy shawls, had just descended on his twin's table. Angelina had been attempting to read his palm when she approached. "If I may have a look, Mr. Weasley…"

"Er, sure," said Fred, a bit unnecessarily, as she snatched his right hand away without waiting for his reply. She stared into his palm a moment, brow furrowed; then she dropped it with a sudden startled gasp.

Half the class, George's table included, jumped. Trelawney backed away, her hand over her mouth.

"My dear child…"

"What?" demanded Fred, rather peeved.

"Your lifeline is so…so pale… I'm afraid you may very well soon be leaving us," she rasped out.

"Yeah, in about an hour," Fred shot back.

Professor Trelawney drew herself up. "This is nothing to joke about, young man. You may not have an eye for the future but I… I see terrible things ahead." She had raised a trembling finger, pointing at him.

"Thanks for the warning," Fred said flatly. "Really appreciate it."

The class had fallen utterly silent, watching their exchange; Fred had crossed his arms defiantly, staring her down, while Professor Trelawney drew herself up to her full height, her eyes bulging more than usual. It was admittedly an amusing sight, if George hadn't been so adamant on not laughing.

When a nearby Hufflepuff timidly interrupted with a question on her friend's palm-reading, the stillness was shattered abruptly. Professor Trelawney swept away to look at their hands instead, leaving Fred to make a rather rude gesture behind her back. The class dissolved back into welcome whispers until, at long last, the bell signaled their release.

* * *

At lunch, they – meaning Lee, Alicia, and Angelina – eagerly shared the story with their fourth-year friend Katie Bell. Fred had once again disappeared to who knew where (George suspected he'd sighted him descending in the direction of the kitchens, but said nothing). Katie, meanwhile, didn't look too amused by their tale, her eyes rather round as Lee and Alicia giggled.

"You don't think she really meant it," she reproached them anxiously.

"Relax, Katie," Angelina said, also grinning. "It's not the first time Trelawney's done something like this. Remember third year?" She glanced around at the other fifth years, who nodded, Lee grinning widely.

"Oh, yeah, she predicted you would kick it next, didn't she?"

"M-hmm," said Angelina. "Had a Quidditch match the next week too – I was half convinced to sit the game out until Fred told me even _turkeys_ could see the future better than that old hag."

"Well, that does sound like something he'd say," Katie agreed, smiling slightly. It disappeared the next instant as she sighed, "I just hope he's all right…"

George knew they all chanced a glance at him at that, but said nothing.

* * *

The week was immeasurably long for Fred. Though he could sleep again, at least enough to keep himself functioning, nightmares now came to haunt his dark dreams. They seemed to revolve mainly around George; after a particularly horrible one where he looked on as a Dementor devoured his twin, he awoke in a cold sweat. For the rest of the night he strived to meditate to keep the memory at bay.

Despite the difficult nights, at least he didn't have to explain his actions to everyone. Every day was a mindless ritual – finding himself awake at ridiculously early hours, he'd taken to the common room to meditate and work on repeating, in hushed tones, a long list of incantations Luna had provided him with. After that he rejoined the sleepy-eyed others for breakfast and morning classes; lunch was spent in the kitchens or the library, studying pictorials of the eastern wizards fighting with swords or bare fists. He'd also, on a surprisingly kind tip from Madam Pince, discovered a book on muggle martial arts that complemented it nicely. When he took to the kitchens again, he vowed to start practicing these techniques as well. His neck was a throbbing reminder of what those dangerous skills could do – he hadn't managed to look Luna in the eye since.

When classes finished, he devoted a brief period to homework and catching up in schoolwork – it was a slow process and it made his head pulse for hours afterward, but he was determined not to fall far enough behind in his courses that he aroused suspicion. Then two hours were devoted to detention with Snape – which was positively torturous – after which he was far too exhausted to do much but fall into bed and dream.

Thursday dawned the same as any other day, and Fred noted, thoughtlessly, that already a week had passed since their arrival at Hogwarts, and George had stopped speaking to him. Everything had become so blurred since Luna's revelation…

He was clawing through his trunk for a missing sock when a familiar voice made him stop short.

"Fred…"

He glanced up.

George stood over him, his hair still a tousled mess from his pillow, not quite meeting his eye. He played with a tear in his sleeve as he muttered, "Listen… Are you still…dreaming?"

It was the first sentence he'd spoken to him in about a week. Fred cracked a tired grin and was glad, for once, to be able to tell the truth.

"Not for a while now."

George nodded distractedly. "That's good, right?" He glanced up and their gazes locked; searching his eyes, Fred saw none of his previous hostility. They were both burned out and exhausted.

"It is," Fred concurred with a jerky nod. "They might be gone for good." If his training worked out with Luna…

"That would be really great." George smiled slightly, a hint of his old self returning to him as an almost malicious glint appeared in his eyes. "We should do something to commemorate it… I think Snape's deserving of a little thank-you present, don't you?"

Fred shook his head, chuckling weakly. "You just read my mind, Georgie."

"Oi! I thought we agreed you wouldn't call me that?"

George was grimacing at him in such chagrin that Fred threw back his head and laughed. It was like the past week had only been a dream – a dragged-out nightmare at that. George joined him after a moment, grinning broadly.

"You know, _ickle Freddikins,_ I think we've left the castle in peace long enough."

"I'm liking the way you think Georgie-porgie. Do share this genius idea of yours."

George made a face at him. "I'm thinking, brother of mine, that it is time for a Weasley twin welcome-back special."

"Ah," observed Fred. "But you miss a fine detail, brother of mine. We _are_ already a week late in planning this."

"All the better to make it something big," George smiled. "They won't see it coming."

"Well now, I never thought _you_ would be the dastardly one. I suppose, since I got the good looks, you had to get _something_."

"Oi!" George grabbed the nearest pillow and flung it at his head. "We're identical, you idiot!"

"You just keep telling yourself that," Fred chortled, ducking.

"You two fighting again?" Lee muttered, raising his head from his now pillow-less bed. Seeing their identical evil grins, he groaned, "Aw, c'mon, at least let a poor bloke sleep around here." He, however, couldn't resist grinning as well.

"Never –" began Fred.

"- There shall not be peace at Hogwarts –"

"- Until the handsomely devious Weasley twins –"

"- One of whom has an irreversibly large ego –"

"Hey now, I was going to let you be deviously handsome."

"Well, all right then."

"- Not until the handsomely devious and deviously handsome Weasley twins are through with them," Fred concluded with a broad smirk.

Three seconds later, he and George were bombarded with pillows courtesy of Lee and their other sleepy dorm-mates.

_To be continued..._

* * *

Please review!


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